Chemicals

4

I slowly open my eyes, feeling the morning light filter through the curtains. Carmen is standing by my side, holding something small in her hand. As my vision sharpens, I see it's a charm—delicate, intricately woven, just like the ones my mother used to make.

"It's not much, but I noticed you wear one like it," Carmen says softly, offering it to me. Her voice carries a warmth that makes me smile. "So I thought I'd make one for you."

I take the charm from her hand, feeling the texture between my fingers. It's simple yet beautiful, holding a quiet sentiment that warms my heart. I look up at her, my gratitude spilling through my words.

"It's beautiful... thank you, Carmen," I say, holding her gaze for a moment before my attention is yanked away by a loud noise outside.

The rumbling sound fills the quiet space, and I rush to the window. Outside, Ethan is standing in front of the car, the engine roaring to life. He pockets his hands, giving the engine a final approving nod.

"Well, looks like my job here is done," he mutters, his voice carrying through the early morning air as he turns toward the house.

I step out and look between the car and Ethan, shaking my head with a slight grin. "Alright, alright, you fixed the car. Good job, but you really need to get some sleep." My words are a mix of praise and concern, but as usual, Ethan brushes it off.

He glances back at me, the hint of a smirk on his lips. "Eh... I'm fine," he says before making his way inside, his casual stride unbothered by exhaustion.

Carmen stands beside me, watching him as well. "He sounds like my brother," she says, her tone laced with a bit of nostalgia.

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at her. "What do you mean?"

She gives a small smile, her eyes following Ethan as he disappears into the house. "My brother was good with mechanics too, always fixing things. He'd avoid confrontations by acting like everything was fine, even when it wasn't. He used to say, 'I'm not tired' when he could barely keep his eyes open." She chuckles softly, shaking her head. "I see the same in him."

I nod, my gaze drifting to Ethan. "Yeah, that does sound like him..." I say, my voice trailing off.

Inside, Dr. Frank is hunched over his desk, fast asleep, the soft hum of his snoring filling the room. He looks utterly spent, his papers strewn about in a disorganized mess. Carmen and I exchange a glance before I step outside again, heading toward the car.

I run my hand along the smooth surface of the hood, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingers. Just as I'm about to slide into the driver's seat, something catches my eye in the open trunk. Guns.

I pause, staring at the assortment of firearms lined up in the trunk, along with several boxes of ammunition. I reach in, pulling out one of the guns—a hefty revolver, its weight unfamiliar in my hand. It's unusually heavy, probably loaded to the brim with ammo.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I carry the gun a few steps away, spotting an old tin can resting on a small log in the distance. Perfect for target practice.

I raise the gun, aligning it with the can, adjusting my grip as I aim. My heart pounds in my chest, the adrenaline building as my finger hovers over the trigger. I take a deep breath, then—

BANG!

The shot rings out, echoing through the air as the can clatters to the ground, a hole blown clean through its side. My pulse quickens as I lower the gun, staring at the now-crumpled can.

Suddenly, Ethan bursts out from the house, his eyes wide as they lock onto me.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouts, hurrying over.

I blink at him, startled. "Practicing..."

He lets out a long, frustrated sigh as he approaches, shaking his head. "You shouldn't be wasting ammo like that. There's practice ammo for training." He steps closer, grabbing my hand that's still holding the gun. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through me, and my heart skips a beat.

"Here, let me show you." His voice is calmer now, more patient. He adjusts my grip, his hand resting over mine as he helps me aim. "First, fix your stance. Your legs should be balanced—one forward, one back, creating resistance."

I nod, shifting my legs as he instructs.

"Now, keep your eyes on the sight. Line it up with the target, don't just look at the barrel."

His hand moves to my chin, gently lifting my head. My breath hitches.

"Don't lower your head. Keep it up," he says, his voice steady, before stepping back.

I refocus, aligning the sight with the can, steadying my breath.

"Okay, now... count to three, then pull the trigger," Ethan says from behind me.

I take a deep breath, counting softly under my breath. "One... two... three..."

I pull the trigger, the shot reverberating through the air again. This time, the bullet hits dead center, piercing the can clean through.

Ethan chuckles softly, nodding in approval. "Good job," he says, glancing at the now-ruined can. His praise sends a warm rush through me, but I can't help but feel the tension lingering between us.

As I lower the gun, I can still feel the imprint of his hand on mine. Something had shifted between us in that moment, but I wasn't quite sure what it meant yet. I shrug it off and sigh. I half smile at him. 

***

The air in the supermarket is thick with stale bread and canned goods, a faint hum from the broken refrigeration units the only sound. We've been sleeping here for weeks, living off whatever we could scavenge. The shelves are mostly empty now, save for a few cans of beans and powdered milk. It's not much, but it's all we have.

Carmen sits next to me, fiddling with the charm she made. "We're running out of time, aren't we?" she asks, her voice soft but laced with worry.

I nod, glancing toward the darkened aisles. "Yeah... food's almost gone."

Ethan is by the front entrance, keeping watch. His hands are deep in his pockets, but his eyes are alert, scanning the empty parking lot beyond the glass doors. He hasn't said it yet, but we all know the truth. We're stranded. The car he fixed a few days ago only has enough fuel to get us a few miles—definitely not enough to find another safe spot.

Carmen speaks up again, breaking the silence. "Maybe we should head out. We can't stay here forever."

"We don't have anywhere else to go," I say, my voice low. "Everything's been picked clean for miles. It's safer to wait."

"Wait for what?" Carmen's voice cracks. "For the food to run out? For us to starve?"

I don't have an answer for her. I look over at Ethan, hoping he might say something, but he stays silent, eyes focused on the horizon. Tension hangs heavy in the air.

Finally, he turns, stepping away from the door. "Tomorrow morning," he says quietly. "We'll figure something out."

There's no plan, no grand solution—just the cold reality that tomorrow might be our last chance. We sit in silence, the weight of our situation pressing down on all of us.

As night falls, I stare at the dusty shelves and wonder how much longer we can survive this.