Success of the Broken Banner

Chapter 5: Sandwiches And Life Stories

The city emerged from the horizon, a dark silhouette about a mile away. I halted, gasping, my body screaming in protest. Echo and Kilo stopped ahead, the scorching sun beating down on us.

"Your stitches?" Echo asked, concern etched in his voice. He approached me, his fingers gently probing my skin.

"They gave out hours ago," I admitted. "But it's manageable."

"We'll find painkillers in the city," Kilo said, squinting at the ruins ahead. "Fifteen minutes. Can you make it?"

I nodded. "I've made it this far."

Understanding flickered in their eyes. We pressed on, met with scenes of utter devastation. Charred cars, shattered buildings, an oppressive silence. But amidst the destruction, a flicker of hope – no Lurkers.

We moved quickly, scavenging for supplies in the less-damaged buildings. Our first target was a supermarket, but a crushed car blocked the entrance. Kilo sprang into action, clearing debris from the driver's side. Inside, a decomposing body awaited.

"Jesus," Kilo muttered, pinching his nose shut. "Echo, help me get him out."

With the body removed and the car shifted, we finally entered the supermarket. The shelves were still stocked, the silence broken only by the creaking of signs. An eerie feeling settled over us, but beneath it, a spark of relief.

"Thank God for that car," Echo whispered. "We hit the jackpot."

"We'll come back for more," Kilo agreed.

As we scoured the aisles for perishables, my stomach growled in anticipation. "I haven't had a non-canned meal in ages," I confessed to Echo.

"Same," he replied, handing me a granola bar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the store is now closed! Anyone remaining after hours will be hunted for sport!"

My heart jolted, my gun drawn before I realized Kilo was behind the voice, a megaphone in hand and a grin on his face.

"What the hell?" I demanded, lowering my weapon.

"I've always wanted to do that," he admitted, chuckling at my expression.

"Score any painkillers on your toy run?" I teased, my smirk growing as his scowl deepened. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a bottle from his cargo pocket and sent it sailing my way. I snagged it mid-air, shaking out two pills. I dry swallowed them, then chased the bitterness with a swig of pilfered water.

Pill bottle stowed, I loaded up on more water and kept moving. My eyes landed on a jar of PB&J, and inspiration struck.

"Sandwiches in the bread aisle, anyone?" I hollered to Echo and Kilo. They gave me a thumbs-up, and we rolled out. We stocked up on plasticware and foil – gourmet field rations.

Huddled on the chill tile, we caught up while we assembled our masterpieces. Stories spilled out between bites of creamy PB&J – glimpses of the lives we left behind.

"I used to be in Boulder," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "working in the trauma ward at the hospital." The weight of those memories settled heavy in the air as I pressed two slices of bread together, handing the makeshift sandwich to Echo. His fingers brushed mine in a fleeting gesture of comfort as he wrapped it in foil.

"I moved there with Frankie from a small town in Illinois about three years ago," I continued, a pang of nostalgia hitting me. "My family has lived there for generations." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "As for my siblings, I'm the middle child of three, and I have no clue where they are or even if they're still out there somewhere." The admission tore from me, leaving my voice cracking with sorrow.