Chasing Tomorrow

Chapter 3

 But when I pull the spear back up, there's nothing. No fish. Just water dripping from the pointed end. I let out a frustrated groan, glaring at the boy as he stifles a laugh. "You were close," he says, trying to sound encouraging. "Just don't hesitate next time. You'll get it."

After catching the fish, the boy doesn't gloat. He just walks over to the riverbank, fish still wriggling on the spear, and gestures for me to follow. "You're going to need more than just food," he says as he kneels down and starts gathering dry sticks and leaves, his hands moving with practiced ease. "You know how to start a fire, right?" I stay quiet, embarrassed again. The truth is, I've never been great at it. I've managed to survive by staying hidden, scavenging for what little I could find. But fire? I hadn't made one in days, and when I tried, it always went out too fast. He glances at me, reading my silence as a no. "Figured as much," he mutters, pulling out a small flint from his pocket. "Here, I'll show you."

"We need to gather wood," he mutters, scanning the forest around us. I glance around, unsure where to start. The forest is dense, with trees that have grown wild in the absence of human care. He begins walking without waiting for me, stepping lightly through the underbrush, his eyes flicking back and forth as if he's searching for something specific. I hesitate for a moment, then follow, stepping carefully over the uneven ground. He moves with purpose, crouching every so often to check for dry sticks or fallen branches. "Here," he says, holding up a long, thin twig that's dry enough to burn. He breaks it over his knee and tosses it into the small pile at his feet. I try to help, picking up a few twigs from the ground, but most of them are damp. I watch him as he works, noticing how effortlessly he seems to know which branches will work and which ones won't. I try to keep up, but it's hard to match his efficiency. My hands feel clumsy, but I keep at it, determined to contribute.

"You know," he says, breaking the silence, "I'm surprised you're still alive." I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" He doesn't look at me, but I can tell from his tone that he's serious. "You don't exactly seem like the survivalist type." I feel my stomach tighten a little, like I've been caught in something I didn't want to admit. "And what's that supposed to mean?" He shrugs, a small, almost amused look in his eyes. "Well, you're not exactly built for this. You've got no skills, no weapons. And yet, here you are, alive. Must be something keeping you going." I pause, unsure how to answer. I've never really thought about it that way. It's not like I've had some grand plan for survival. I'm not some seasoned hunter or fighter. "I guess... it's just luck," I finally say, my voice quieter than I intended. "I'm not good at much, but I can run. Really fast." He stops walking and glances at me, his expression unreadable. "You can run? That's your big secret?" I nod, not looking at him. "Yeah. When things got bad—when the monsters started showing up, when everything fell apart—most people froze or panicked. But I could always outrun them. Always find a way out before things got worse." A brief silence falls between us as he processes this. I keep my eyes on the ground, my hands moving automatically as I grab another stick.

"You think you can outrun everything?" he asks, his voice softer now, almost curious. I hesitate. "No, but I can keep moving. And that's usually enough." He raises an eyebrow, throwing a quick glance in my direction. "Fair enough. Survival doesn't need to be pretty."

I pick up another stick, focusing on the task at hand. His words are surprisingly comforting, even if they're not meant to be. Out here, I've learned that survival is about more than just strength or skill—it's about being resourceful. And maybe running, when there's no other option, is just as good a tactic as any.

The conversation shifts to other trivial things—the type of wood that burns best, the importance of finding dry moss—and slowly, the weight of the silence becomes less awkward.

After collecting all kinds of sticks, he arranged them and leaves into a small pile, expertly placing the dryest materials in the center. Then, he strikes the flint against his knife, sending sparks flying until the leaves catch. He blows on it gently, coaxing the small flame until it grows into a steady fire. The warmth spreads immediately, and I can't help but inch closer to it, my wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin. Without another word, he starts preparing the fish, gutting it with quick, efficient movements. I watch, feeling useless but too hungry to care. He skewers the fish on the same spear he used to catch it and sets it over the fire.

"Sit," he says, not looking up. "It'll be ready soon." I sit down across from him, watching as the flames crackle and dance, the smell of cooking fish filling the air. My stomach growls again, and the boy gives me a sideways glance. "You didn't catch anything, so I'll share," he says, his tone matter-of-fact. "But next time, don't expect it. Learn to catch your own." I don't say anything, but the embarrassment creeps back in. Still, I can't deny how hungry I am, and when the fish is finally ready, he pulls it off the fire and breaks it in half, handing me one piece.

"Thanks," I mumble, though the words feel strange. It's been so long since I've eaten something freshly cooked that I almost forgot what it's like. We eat in silence. The fish is warm and tender, the best thing I've tasted in weeks, but I barely get to enjoy it because I'm too busy wondering what his next move will be. He doesn't seem like the type to stick around, and sure enough, as soon as he finishes his half, he stands up, brushing off his hands like he's ready to leave.

"Wait—where are you going?" I ask, not hiding the surprise in my voice. He shrugs, turning to look back at me with that same nonchalant expression. "I helped you out. You're not starving anymore. My job's done." I blink, not sure what to say. "Just like that? You're leaving?"

"Yeah," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I didn't do this because I wanted a friend. I just couldn't stand watching you flounder around like that. Not cruel enough to let a silly girl die because she couldn't catch her own food." His words sting, but there's something deeper there. Something he's not saying. "So, you're just going back into the forest? Alone?"

He narrows his eyes slightly, his casual demeanor hardening. "Yeah. Alone's better." I stand up too, confused. "Why? We could—"

"We could what?" he interrupts, a sharp edge in his voice now. "I don't trust people. Haven't for a long time. And I sure don't trust you." His bluntness stings more than I care to admit. I stare at him, trying to make sense of it. "You don't trust me? But you helped me." He snorts. "I helped you because I'm not a monster. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stick around. People lie, people stab each other in the back, and I've had enough of that. So yeah, I don't trust you. Don't take it personally."

I want to argue, to tell him he's wrong, but there's something in his voice that stops me. Something bitter, like he's seen too much to believe anything else. I feel my throat tighten, unsure of what to say. There's a part of me that wants to know more about him, but I sense he's not the type to share much. Or share anything at all.

He adjusts his belt, slipping the knife back into its sheath. "Look, don't make this complicated. You're alive, and that's what matters. Just... be smarter next time." With that, he turns and starts walking away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the trees. I stand there, staring after him, a strange emptiness settling in my chest.