Reborn, 72 Hours Before The Apocalypse

"Jason! Open the door!"

Ariana hit the door of 9C with both fists. Blood ran down her wrists. None of it was hers.

Below her, the stairwell shook. Something small and fast was climbing, and it was screaming.

"Jason, please!"

She counted because she could not stop herself. One. Two. Three. The screaming got closer. Four. Five. Six. Her palms slid on the wood. Seven. Eight.

The lock turned.

She fell inside. Jason shut the door behind her and dropped the bolt. A second later something hit the other side so hard the frame shook.

"Hunter," Ariana gasped. "It came in through a window on six."

Jason stood with his back against the door. His face was white. "I thought it was coming up."

"It was coming up. That's why I was knocking."

"I know. I'm sorry." He wiped his hands on his shirt. They were shaking. "I heard it and I just locked the door. I didn't think."

Ten seconds, Ariana thought. It had only been ten seconds.

Outside, a man shouted, "Get back! Get back!" A pipe rang off concrete. The thing screamed again. There was a wet crack, and then the corridor went quiet.

Ariana pushed Jason's arm off the bolt.

"Ari, don't," he said.

"That's Mr. Haskell out there."

"He has a pipe. He's fine."

"He's not fine if it got him."

She opened the door.

The Hunter lay on the carpet with its head caved in. Three neighbors stood around it holding pipes and a broken table leg. Mr. Haskell from 6B sat against the wall, squeezing his forearm. Blood ran between his fingers.

Ariana dropped to her knees beside him. "Let me see."

"Don't touch me, girl." His voice was calm. That was the worst part. "It got my arm. You know what that means."

"We can wash it. We can wrap it. Maybe it didn't..."

"Ariana." He looked at her kindly. "It always does."

Nobody spoke. A young man in a work jacket stared at the floor.

"I'll sit with you," she said.

"You'll go inside and eat something. You look like a ghost." He tried to smile. "Go on. Take your boyfriend. Tell him next time, open the door faster."

Jason had come up behind her. He said nothing. Ariana's face burned on his behalf.

"He was scared," she said.

"We're all scared, sweetheart."

Sabrina sat at the kitchen table with a candle and a glass of water. She pushed the glass across as soon as Ariana came in.

"Drink. You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"You have a dead man's blood on your sleeves. You are not fine."

"He's not dead yet," Ariana said. Her voice came out thin.

Sabrina did not answer. She took Ariana's hands and washed them in a bowl of water, slowly, one finger at a time.

Jason hovered by the window. "I panicked," he said. "I'm not proud of it."

"It's okay," Ariana said.

"It's not okay," Sabrina said gently. "You can be angry at him, Ari."

"I'm not angry."

"You should be a little." Sabrina smiled. Then she looked down at the water. "Do you remember the summer my dad lost the house?"

Ariana laughed, and it cracked in the middle. "You slept on my floor for three months."

"We were twelve. You gave me half your closet and you never once asked when I was leaving." Sabrina squeezed her fingers. "You've been my real family ever since. You know that, right?"

Ariana's eyes stung. "I know."

"Good. Then stop apologizing to everyone. Start eating."

Ariana stood and opened the cupboard. Six cans. A bag of rice, a third full. She stared at it.

"There were eight cans yesterday."

Jason looked up. "Are you sure?"

"I counted them. I always count them."

"You're exhausted," he said. "You've barely slept in two days."

She pressed her fingers to her forehead. "You're right. I must have counted wrong. I'm sorry."

Sabrina was watching her. She did not say a word.

The lobby smelled of candle smoke and sweat. Thirty people sat on the floor in the half-dark. Mr. Brandt, the building manager, stood on a chair with a flashlight under his chin.

"The barricade on three is cracked," he said. "I've checked it twice. It will not hold another night."

A woman near the front started to cry.

"So we leave at dawn. Service door through the back alley, then the ring road. A man on the radio says the army has a convoy at the overpass. They're taking survivors."

"Is that true?" someone called.

"It's what I heard."

"That's not an answer!"

"It's the only one I have!" Mr. Brandt shouted. The lobby went silent. He lowered his voice. "We move fast and we move quiet. Anyone who can't keep up stays behind. I'm sorry. That's how it has to be."

Mrs. Dale sat in a folding chair near the stairs, both hands on her cane. She was a eighty years old woman.

"Mr. Brandt," she said. "It's six miles to the ring road."

"I know, Mrs. Dale."

"I can do six blocks. I can't do six miles. You'll have to leave me on the eighth floor with my cat."

"You don't have a cat," someone muttered.

"I'm planning ahead."

A few people laughed, then stopped.

Ariana stood up. "I'll help her."

Jason caught her sleeve. "Ari."

"I'm not leaving her."

"We can't carry anyone. You heard him."

"Then I'll go at the back of the line." She looked at Mr. Brandt. "That's fine, isn't it?"

Mr. Brandt rubbed his face. "Back of the line. Don't blame me if it goes wrong."

"I won't."

Jason let go of her sleeve. His jaw was tight.

Two soft knocks. Two more.

The door opened a crack. "You again," Mrs. Dale said.

"Me again." Ariana held up a tin plate with a spoonful of rice and half a can of beans on it. "I made too much."

"You never make too much. You make exactly enough and then you give me half of it." Mrs. Dale took the plate anyway. She sat down in her chair by the window and ate slowly. "Your young man doesn't like this."

"He's hungry. We all are."

"That's not what I said."

Ariana looked at her hands.

Mrs. Dale set down the spoon. She took Ariana's hand in both of hers. Her skin felt like paper.

"Listen to me, dear. Whatever you do tomorrow, carry your own bag."

"I will. I always do."

"I mean it. Carry it yourself. Don't hand it to anyone."

"Mrs. Dale, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm old, and I've watched people for a very long time." She patted Ariana's hand. "Your friends are good to you. I hope so, anyway."

Ariana laughed softly. "They are. They're my family."

"Mm," Mrs. Dale said. "Eat something yourself. You're as thin as a pin."

Jason was waiting up when she got back. He sat on the edge of the couch with his arms folded.

"You went to her again."

"She had nothing."

"We have nothing!" He stood. "Do you know how hungry I am? I counted the rice. There's barely enough for one more meal."

"Jay," Sabrina said from the doorway of the bedroom. "Stop."

"No. Every day she gives something away. Every single day. We're going to starve in this building because she can't say no to anyone."

"I'm sorry," Ariana said.

"Stop saying sorry."

"I'm sorry." She heard herself and closed her eyes. "I'll give less tomorrow. I promise."

Jason stared at her. Something in his face eased, and he sat back down, rubbing his eyes. "I'm not trying to be cruel. I'm scared. That's all."

"I know."

Sabrina crossed the room and put her arms around Ariana from behind. "You're too good for this world, Ari. That isn't a bad thing."

It felt like the nicest thing anyone had said to her in weeks.

Ariana went to bed first. She lay on her back and looked at the ceiling. Above her head, behind the loose panel, was the one thing she had not told them about. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Bandages. Everything she had taken from the pharmacy on the first day. She was saving it for the day it mattered most.

She did not know why she had never mentioned it. She only knew she had kept it back.

Through the wall, a chair scraped. Low voices began in the kitchen.

She almost did not listen. Then she heard her own name.

"She'll give everything away before we get out," Jason said.

"I know," Sabrina answered.

"So what do we do?"

There was a pause. Ariana held her breath.

"Then we stop asking her," Sabrina said.