The Burning

It started with the smell. A strange and suffocating thickness in the air that clung to the back of my throat, like I’d swallowed dirt. I remember stepping out of the hospital after a long shift, the Seattle skyline stretching out in front of me, and feeling like something was wrong. The sky was a dull gray, not the usual drizzle or overcast we were used to. This was darker, heavier. I called Chloe. "Hey, are you seeing this?" I asked, squinting up at the murky sky. "Seeing what?" Chloe’s voice came through, light and distracted. She was probably painting or working on one of her sculptures. She had an artist's mind, always somewhere else. I glanced at my watch. 3:15 PM. Too early for the sun to set but too dark to be anything normal. "The sky, it’s... weird." I couldn’t put it into words at the time. Not that it would’ve mattered. Words wouldn’t have saved us. "Relax, Maya. Probably wildfires again. You know how summers have been the last few years. I’ll be fine." I’ll be fine.

"Come on, man," he said, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Ain’t no need to make this harder than it has to be. Just hand over whatever you got, and we might let you walk away." The father didn’t move. His hands were shaking, but he stood his ground. "Please," the mother begged, clutching her daughter tighter. "We don’t have much. Just… just let us go." The raider leader’s smirk widened. "See, now that’s where you’re wrong. You got everything we need." I couldn’t wait any longer. I moved quickly, darting out from behind a pile of rubble and swinging the pipe at the closest raider’s head. The impact was sickening, a dull thunk as his skull cracked. He dropped to the ground, unconscious or dead, I didn’t care which. I grabbed his knife before it hit the ground, spinning to face the others. For a moment, there was stunned silence. The raiders hadn’t expected anyone to fight back. "Who the hell—" the leader started, but I didn’t give him a chance to finish. I lunged at him, swing

I gripped the knife at my side, my mind racing. What were my options? I could run, try to lose them in the ruins, but I wasn’t sure I had the energy for that. And if they had a vehicle stashed somewhere, running would just get me killed faster. I could hide, wait for them to pass, but that didn’t feel right either. No, if they were after me, they wouldn’t just pass by. They’d find me eventually. Which left one option. I could confront them. probably.... I waited a little longer, watching as the figure grew closer. They weren’t in a hurry, moving at a steady, measured pace. I didn’t see any weapons, but that didn’t mean much. Anyone who had survived this long had something up their sleeve. My heart pounded in my chest as I stood up, gripping the knife tightly in my hand. I stepped out from behind the wall and started walking back toward them, each step deliberate, my senses on high alert. The distance between us closed slowly, painfully slowly, and every second felt like an ete

Fire was a living thing. I had learned that a long time ago. It breathed, it consumed, and it destroyed everything in its path. But this fire—this wildfire—was different. It wasn’t just alive. It was hungry. The flames roared behind us, devouring the dry forest in seconds, the sky above turning black with smoke. Every gust of wind sent embers spiraling into the air, carried on the back of a storm that seemed hell-bent on chasing us down. The heat was unbearable, like standing too close to an open furnace, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and ash. We ran. My legs burned with exhaustion, my lungs screamed from the smoke, but I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, the fire would take me. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not again. Ben was ahead of me, his silhouette barely visible through the haze. He moved with purpose, his steps sure and steady despite the chaos around us, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his head kept turning like he was

The cabin was a relic from a time before the world had turned to ash and chaos. It sat nestled in the crook of the mountains, half-hidden by overgrown pines and brush, its wooden walls weathered and cracked but still standing. The roof sagged in places, and most of the windows were shattered, but it was shelter—more than we’d had in days. I leaned against the doorframe, watching as Ben moved through the small room, checking the corners like he always did, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He was methodical, precise. It was like he couldn’t turn off the soldier part of him, even when it was just the two of us and the only threat was the cold. I looked past him, through the broken window, where the last embers of the wildfire still glowed faintly in the distance. The fire was dying now, smothered by the rocky terrain and the lack of fuel, but its damage was already done. The landscape below was charred and blackened, a wasteland that stretched for miles in every direction. We were