Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyers owns all rights - no copyright infringement intended. I also don't own any Volvos. Sad face.
END OF US
Filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above
- Apocalypse, Cigarettes After Sex
(EPOV)
I'm not sure what possessed me to slip my phone out of my back pocket. It was sort of a zombie-like motion. I could hardly believe the scene in front of me and I force my shaky hands to quit their trembling while I snap a couple photos of the destruction - my form of proof to what I just went through. There's only about a dozen survivors left on this side of the fallen bridge and the group of us are in a daze as we stare out at our annihilated city. I'm sure we're all thinking that this can't possibly be real, and as I look down at the pictures I took with tears falling from my eyes, I'm torn to know it is. My friends... my house, even my school... just gone.
My fingers grip my phone tightly, and that hand slowly raises in the front of me when a new sound fills the sky - the remaining people still standing around swivel their heads towards it. Propellers chop through the air, the noise nearly muted as a helicopter begins taking shape through the smoke. I squint my eyes at the inscription on the side when it turns, seeing what I believe to be a news station logo. Thoughts of where they came from loop through my head, and I wonder if they're covering a story of what those jets just did; the rest of the world would need to know what happened here today so they could escape before a higher power bombs them down.
I should walk away like the others are beginning to do, I know I should. The virus will catch up eventually. But instead I stand frozen, my chest pounding, as the helicopter rises higher and higher into the air, finally clearing the smoke and gunning it across the water. The light from the hazy sun glints off metal, and I muse that it's like a shiny beacon of hope as it heads farther out into the Pacific. It's almost beautiful, in a way.
A million goosebumps cover my arms in reaction to a different and familiar set of engines overtaking the sound of propellers.
My gut churns.
Oh no.
A jet soars above me and my thumb automatically presses the bottom of my phone, tapping the small button on the screen to begin recording. I did it without thinking, almost instinctively. Though I wasn't conscious of it at the moment, I knew I wanted solid evidence of what these government planes did to innocent people - how they slaughtered them like cows out of fear. I needed visual support for how sadistic and cowardly these fucks were, so I wouldn't have to fall asleep at night wondering if everything they did was a dream or not.
It's obvious what's about to happen as the plane nears the helicopter. And another tear slides down my cheek at the reality of it all.
Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop! The wickedly loud sounds of a gun firing and connecting with metal and glass smothers my gasp. I drop to my knees, my phone still pointed towards the scene in the air, and watch in silent agony as the last shot hits the engine and instantly causes an outward explosion. Propellers and mangled metal fall from the sky in a ball of fire, brutally hitting the ocean with a loud slap and a whispered sizzle. The rumbling sound of jet engines and turbines disappear into the clouds a final time.
The last hope of getting out the story the world needs sinks to the bottom of the Pacific - the pit in my stomach sinking right along with it. There's a strange sound taking over the sudden silence around me, and after a few moments I realize the noises are coming from me as I heave in breaths and sputter out weird keening whimpers.
Was I... Was I sobbing?
I honestly couldn't remember the last time I cried this hard. Years and years ago. I had no reason to cry then. My life was perfect until now. I was a shoe in this year to be captain and quarterback on the varsity football team; I had made the team my freshman year. I knew my passion and I did it well. My mom and dad were doting parents to their only child, and having my two best friends -Emmett and Jasper- over all the time was like adding another two siblings to the family. Our family was complete. I was complete. I was whole. I was never lonely and rarely ever alone. Girls loved me and my stupid hair, and they always seemed to naturally flock to me at school. And despite it being annoying sometimes, I was happy.
And now everyone and everything, along with what could have been my life, is like smoke after a fire. Drifting through the wind, and never to be seen again. I feel it in my heart, in my bones, my soul. Nothing would ever be the same after today. It's a crushing weight that pushes and pushes and pushes until it rips a hole through my chest, leaving only a numb emptiness where my heart should be.
My stomach reacts violently and I dry heave between my hands outstretched on the pavement.
I feel weak under the heaviness of the duffel bag on my back and I want nothing more than to shrug it off and place it under my head so I could fall asleep and forget about how fucked up the world was right now - but I know, I know, my survival rate would drop at least halfway if I stayed. I had to keep going north, find shelter. There was nothing left for me here.
Stay calm. Go north.
The sound of my own footsteps keeps me aware and awake, even as my eyelids start to droop and my mind begins to shut down.
I had been walking for at least six hours now, heading north and following the highway signs to Washington state. The gun in my waistband is like lead and my fingers twitch for it when random noises in the trees spook me. The smoke from the city blocks the sun and emits a hazy dimmed light, making it appear -although it's nearly noon- that it's twilight. The eerie atmosphere it creates raises the small hairs along my neck and I lighten my steps, paranoid someone was following me.
No cars have passed since I began the trek away from San Francisco. Not a single one. I happened to stumble across an abandoned clunker on the side of the road, even tried twisting the key left in the ignition, but wasn't surprised when the engine refused to turn over.
The bag on my back becomes heavier and heavier with every mile I put between myself and the city. My feet ache and my mouth is dry. I've already drank a third of the water out of my jug and I resist the temptation every minute to drink more. I wasn't sure when I'd find a source of clean water so I was trying to conserve it as much as possible. My coach would swear up and down that dehydration was the worst thing you could do to your body, and though I despised it, right now I had no choice but to suffer from dry lips and a parched throat. I promised myself that in an hour or two, I would take a much deserved sip.
I approach a large green sign about half an hour later, the white words spanning across it read 'Novato exit: one mile'. I nod inwardly and continue walking; I was getting closer to another highly populated city. The possibility of locating shelter or finding a car raises with that knowledge and I keep my hopes up while I drag my feet onward, although the risk of getting infected lingers in my mind, I shove it aside. My shoulders are rubbed raw from the straps of the duffel, and groaning, I reach around and swing the bag to my front so I'm carrying it like a newborn. The relief on my back is immediate and I revel in it for a short while my arms carry the load.
Another mile and twenty minutes later and I finally reach the Novato exit, but before I veer off to follow it, a glint of a reflection in the distance captures my attention. I step towards it slightly, thinking I see the shape of a black car, and before I know it, I'm shrugging the duffel bag back onto my aching shoulders and half-jogging towards it. The outline of it becomes clearer as I near it and I'm stunned to see a pristine dark blue 2017 Volvo seemingly abandoned on the side of the road. The driver side door was open, and my stomach rises into my throat once I catch the sight of a leg sticking out.
I stand there for a second, waiting for it to move.
It doesn't.
I round the bumper of the car and edge closer to the shadow of a slumped body in the front seat. My fingers twitch near my waistband, my heart pounding, both just standing by for the moment the guy decides to jump out at me.
He doesn't.
I breathe deeply to prepare myself and then step nearer to the door. The dude is older -probably nearing his sixties- and he's slouched back against the seat, one foot out the door with both hands clasped over his heart. There's no black mucus streaming from his nose or empty eye sockets like I expected there would be.
Instead, I see a man who had suffered a heart attack trying to escape from the virus.
My eyes take in his balding head and pasty skin, and part of me is glad he didn't have to experience symptoms of muerta negra - or HO8, whatever it's called now. The other half of me, however, is saddened he never had a chance at survival in the first place. Death seemed to call to him, no matter what. Sighing and looking around the passenger and back seats, I take note he was a light packer and only had a couple water bottles. From what I could see, at least. The trunk could be packed.
After I've convinced myself I'm already going to Hell, I reach down and tug his feet. Hard. He barely moves an inch and I grumble a curse under my breath - he was at least twice my size, and I was sort of large for my age. I vigorously pull on his ankles and bit by bit, he comes tumbling down from the seat. I step back at the last moment and look down at his withered face sadly. If he had a family, I hope they're all alive and well, and I hope that they were his last thoughts before he moved on.
But much like the helicopter, my hopes had a tendency to crash and burn.
I unwrap the duffel from around my shoulders and shove it into the backseat, simultaneously reaching down to grab a water bottle. I've chugged it completely before I even reach the driver side door yet my throat stays parched. I timidly sit my ass down on the seat where the dead man had sat minutes ago, and softly rubs my hands along the leather steering wheel. It felt weirdly right.
The key is in the ignition, and unlike the shitty car I left miles back, I'm certain the engine in this baby will come alive once I've turned it over. My thumb and finger hold the key delicately, and with a twist, the car gloriously roars to life. My eyes widen at the sound and I jerk my fingers back in shock, rubbing them roughly through my hair and over my face.
And for the second time today, tears stream down my cheeks and off my jaw.
But this time it was for a different reason. These were tears of relief that my hopes didn't go unanswered. That I didn't escape the city and survive a mass bombing just to die, but instead, I found a vehicle; and at the same time, I found another chance - another reason to keep going. I wasn't sure how long I could have continued on carrying that bag and I was mostly certain I wouldn't have found shelter by nightfall, either.
If this old man hadn't died, I surely would have.
After wiping away the wetness on my face, I flick the button that unlatches the trunk and then jumped out of the car, carefully stepping around said old man on the ground. I open the trunk, consecutively placing a hand in my hair in awe of what I see there - six full gas cans lined up in a neat row along the back, a bundle of blankets on the left, and cans of food and protein drinks on the right, along with a whole case of water bottles. I don't move for a couple seconds, completely shocked still by how this guy's untimely misfortune somehow ended up working for me in the long-run.
I close the trunk, smiling softly to myself despite the guilt and anguish threatening to rip me apart.
My body is numb.
And so are my thoughts, feelings... everything.
I've been driving for nearly seven hours, avoiding bridges and taking back roads to evade the traffic jams I'm sure are beginning to trickle in along the coast as the virus spreads further and further north. I feel like I'm playing a game of cat and mouse, always staying alert for the incoming claws and teeth I know are only so far away from me. I'm aware that I need to rest, my eyes are demanding it, but I drive on until the sun sets and the moon rises in its place. My fingers seem permanently molded to the wheel, and when I finally find a spot to bunker down somewhere in a field outside of Eugene, Oregon, they remain in a curved position until I'm able to stretch them out.
I take my sleeping bag out of the duffel and a fuzzy blanket from the trunk, folding it repeatedly until it almost resembles a pillow. I'm too tall to sleep in the back, so I lean the driver seat all the way it could go before sitting down and wrapping myself in the sleeping bag, placing my makeshift pillow underneath my head. And it's not until after I've munched on a granola bar and a dry pack of ramen, do I feel the overwhelming need to shut my eyes. I triple check I've locked the doors before allowing myself to relax against the seat.
Every inch of me felt drained and exhausted, the events of today taking its toll. I want to succumb to the sleep I know I need, but my ears pick up each sound that echoes inside the car from outside and I can't help the paranoia that seeps through my thoughts.
But even as I fret internally, my eyes begin to shut on their own accord, the fatigue within me taking over completely.
I breathe out a weary sigh, and then... I'm asleep.
My tired eyes peel open the second that sun rays filter through the windshield and shine upon my face, the brightness shocking me awake from a dreamless sleep. I reach quickly for the gun hidden underneath the duffel bag and look around me cautiously, calming and releasing it once I realize I'm in the middle of a field and safe.
I'm alive, in my sleeping bag, after spending the night vulnerable inside of a car.
Every muscle in my body was fucking sore, but I was alive.
Once I chow down breakfast (a can of peaches and a granola bar), I pop open the trunk and retrieve one of the many gas cans stored there. The car was at a full tank when I started driving yesterday, and now it was leaning precariously close to E. I chose to remedy that issue now while I was safe instead of later when I may not be. I use the entire can, afterwards reaching across the wheel to switch on the ignition and watching as the gas gauge meter rises just underneath F.
Satisfied, I tossed the empty can inside the trunk and then eased myself back into the driver seat. As I begin driving, I calculate that I'm only four hours away from Seattle, and though it's always been a place I'd like to visit, I decide I want to be as far away from that area as I could get while still heading north. It had quarantine written all over it. The mass amounts of people there had no idea what would happen if the virus spread to their city and my heart squeezes, wishing I could warn them. I had the pictures and one video on my phone as proof of course, but since yesterday, I've failed to reach a signal.
I choose to drive west of Seattle, on the opposite end of the Puget Sound and closer to the coast. I'm happy with my decision in the end, as there is little to no traffic whatsoever along this route.
The hours fly by and soon I'm winding down twisted and curved roads, wholesomely surrounded by green. I had never seen anything like it. The trees back home in San Francisco were planted accordingly to the organized landscape of the streets and buildings. They were tidy and clean - nothing at all like this. The towering trees around me now have massive and oddly bent trunks, bright green moss covering nearly every single surface of brown bark; the leafs atop are wild and untamed and they hang over the road with their fullness.
It's almost indescribable how relieved the nature here makes me feel and I lower the window slightly to breath in the fresh air.
And I almost feel normal for a second until I realize nothing is.
A small green sign catches my eye and I read it out loud. "Forks," I say to myself, testing it out. What a stupid name for a town - was Spoons already taken? I'm about to chuckle to myself when I read the smaller letters beneath it: 'population: 3,783'. I hum, slightly interested. I'd never been in a town with less than five-thousand people before and something about checking the area out enticed me so much so that instead of following the main road like I had planned, I steer off onto a random road and pray to the heavens that I don't end up regretting it.
I pass through empty street after empty street. Some houses had cars parked out front, most did not. It was basically a ghost town. Had the virus already reached here? But then I see shutters move from behind a window of one of the houses on my left and it's then I presume the people who are still around are most likely hiding and don't want to be found. I see how nearly deserted this town is and I wonder - would the government bomb it if the virus spread to the remaining people here? Or was it too small of a town to care about?
I'm stuck in my thoughts and when I finally come to, I note that I've been driving aimlessly without really thinking of where I was going.
God dammit, Edward.
Sighing, I pull over to the side even though it's completely unnecessary since the cars driving around on this road were non-existent. The action is habitual I suppose, and I carry on with it, shifting into park once I'm fully stopped. I reach around my seat and feel in the duffel for the box of saltine crackers, grabbing it once I get my fingers around it and bringing it to my lap. I've ripped open a bag and am in the middle of reaching my arm back again for the jar of peanut butter, when my eyes zoom in on hidden pathway farther up the road. Like, it was really hidden, like someone intentionally placed the bushes and branches that were in front of it so no one would see it when they drove by.
I only noticed because I pulled over.
Frowning, I drop the peanut butter back into the bag and set the crackers onto the passenger seat. My growling stomach is forgotten as I maneuver the car forward until it's in front of the bushes. Looking around me for an audience and seeing none, I unlock the doors and jump out, rounding the hood and walking closer until I'm able to see behind the thick vegetation.
A steep, enclosed gravel road heads down through dense shrubbery and to the right, eventually veering off in that direction until I couldn't see it any further. I place my hand on the bush to try and get a better look, and swallow back a gasp when my fingers connect with a solid material amidst the leafs. A hidden gate! I feel all around for a latch. I flick it open once I find it and push the barrier back until it swings wide enough to reveal the rocky path ahead.
It looks like a long driveway, but where it leads to I'm not sure. A voice inside my head warns me to turn around, get back in my car, and to keep moving north without looking back. However my gut twists and kicks with pure intent: follow the road to the end. The camouflaged gate wasn't meant to be seen, but somehow I saw it out of pure coincidence. I probably wasn't meant to survive the bombing of my city, but I did. Because I trusted my instincts. And beforehand when that guy tried to shoot me... if I hadn't moved the hammer behind my back in the split second he'd been turned, I'd be dead. Surely. But I wasn't - because I listened to my gut.
The instincts I've felt have kept me alive thus far.
So while walking backwards to the car, I decide to listen to them once more.
I sit myself down quickly and move my car forward and through the gate. Once I'm a bit away from it, I jump out again and seal the gate shut. It was most likely hidden for a reason, and while I was curious, I was also trying to respect whoever owned this property at the same time. If there was anyone at the end of the trail, I would leave immediately. There was no way to tell who was volatile or not right now and I couldn't take any hardcore risks, such as exposing myself to strangers.
I am back in my seat within a couple seconds, slowly coasting up and down steep hills of the gravel driveway. I keep my eyes peeled for a building or sign of some sort, and after a few minutes, I'm left wondering if this was all for naught and if the trail was blocked off because it leads to absolutely nowhere.
I'm a stubborn asshole though, so I keep driving.
After about another minute, the small road narrows even further. The trees seem to enclose around me, the density of the forest nearly eerie. Just when I'm about to say fuck it and attempt to turn around, the outline of a brown building in the distance starts to take shape. And as I get closer I realize it's not just a building, but a tiny cabin.
The driveway dips one more time before it widens into a grassy clearing about a football field away from the small house. The mass of wooden logs sits directly in the middle of the large open space, surrounded by trees and tall grass infested with wildflowers. There were no cars parked out front, and I didn't see a carport or garage attached to the cabin. I assume nobody is home and that they haven't been for a very, very long time.
But then I think of yesterday morning and how that homeless man had been knocked out for snooping around where his nose didn't belong. He thought the house had been empty but he was wrong and paid for the consequences. I couldn't make the same mistake here.
I slow to a stop and shift to park on the outskirts of the clearing. My gun had been resting in the cup holder and I wrap my fingers around it quickly and then stuff it into my waistband, hoping I wouldn't have to use it but knowing I would if I had to defend myself. I take the key out of the ignition and, still cautious of my environment, scan the trees one more time while safely in my car before opening up the door and stepping out onto thick, plush grass. My feet sink in and I almost moan. The nature here was unreal, I could smell just how clean and fresh the air is - not a hint of pollution with all these trees around.
I breathe in a huge gulp of it and then proceed to shut my car door, locking the rest of them as silently as possible.
The birds serenade to me as I quietly walk away from the Volvo and towards the cabin. Their delicate songs reach my ears and somewhat relaxes my tense movements. I keep my thumb on the edge of my jeans and it comforts me knowing that if I needed to, I could have the gun out, cocked and aimed within a matter of seconds. I wasn't looking to hurt anyone, I just really didn't want to die after all I've gone through to get this far.
I'm practically at the front door when I see a lump in the ground on my left. My head turns a bit, distracted, and I take in a slightly risen mound of dirt in a small area clear of grass. It looked like it had recently been dug up and then placed back over.
I stare at it in confusion for a moment until the length and width of it begins to make sense.
It was a grave. An unmarked one.
A chill goes down my spine.
My heart beats quicker, but I continue in my quest and keep my steps quiet as I circle the cabin and slyly peer into the mildew-stained windows. I couldn't see much but I sensed no movement coming from inside and I hum in thought. Maybe the person who was here days ago to bury whoever died dipped as soon as they were done. My heart slows and relief floods through me that I am, in fact, alone.
I mean, except for the supposed corpse in the front yard.
Huffing, I walk around all four walls of the cabin, soon coming to a stop at the front door. My fingers shake as they reach for the handle, but I refuse to acknowledge the tremors. I've been through much worse than some creepy cottage in the middle of nowhere. My fingers touch the circular metal handle and twist it, attempting to open the door to no avail. It was locked.
I try again a little harder, and nope, still locked. My chest expands with my frustrated sigh, and I look down at the door, frowning when I noticed there doesn't seem to be a deadbolt. A small smile creeps onto my face with that passing thought. My hand lifts from the knob and pats down my back pocket, and when I feel the small wallet, I take it out and bring it to the front of me, extracting a debit card before returning it to my jeans pocket.
Emmett had taught me this at a party once, but I never really thought I'd have a reason to use it.
I grip the card in my left hand and slip it between the crack of the door and the frame around it, pushing it in as far as it could go. My right hand reaches for the handle and in one fluid motion, I slide the card down while simultaneously twisting the knob. It unlocks with a light click and viola, the door was swinging open. And though I'm eager, I scope out the interior first before I decide to enter.
The inside is musty and basically empty except for an average-sized bed, a tiny kitchen and a giant round rug that takes up almost the entirety of the space on the floor. There doesn't seem to be any electricity, but even then, it doesn't matter to me. It looks safe and... peaceful, I guess. Simple; quaint. No doubt probably the only place in the whole country that I'd feel safe sleeping in.
Without much hesitation, I decide to move my things in. Just for the night. I replace the dusty blanket on the bed with clean ones from the trunk and take the yellowing linen off the pillow, wrapping another fresh blanket around it to form a pillowcase. I quickly change into sleep clothes and lay down once I'm settled and the door is locked, my aching body completely molding into the mattress. I munch on the saltine crackers and peanut butter for a bit, washing them down with water.
My eyes and head start to feel heavy as I lay there thoroughly relaxed, and even though it's hardly six o'clock in the evening, I know I'll sleep until at least late the next morning. My body numbs, each inhale and exhale becoming slower and slower and slower...
And at the exact second I'm taken by my dreams, I swear I hear the soft melody of someone singing.
A/N: Love writing a determined E's POV. Let me know your thoughts! -sondor