End of Death (manxman)

Fall of Civilization: Part 2 - Fire Spreading

Milo couldn't help but cry.

The knots in his stomach crept up to his throat. His house looked the same and so did the quiet cul-de-sac. It could have been any dreary Tuesday.

But Milo knew nothing was the same. The throbbing in his head was a constant reminder of all his losses. Milo imagined his mother working in the yard and his brother Elliott barley missing the basketball hoop that his father nailed above the garage. It was all in his memories now but he wanted it to be real so badly.

A familiar Range Rover pulled to a stop in front of Milo's house. Milo turned to see Mr. Stratton behind the wheel. Beyond his gruff neighbor, dark smoke billowed into the air and Milo couldn't help but feel unnerved. The fire at the high school still burned. Milo dragged his sleeve across his face, no more tears. Time to go.

"Listen, we both lost a lot." Mr. Stratton stated the obvious. His eyes focused on the road and he clenched the steering wheel. "But, we are going to get to Santa Fe, I'll drop you with your Aunt."

"What if it's not there? What if Aunt Sissy isn't there," Milo whispered, his eyes puffy, "You don't know what's going to happen."

"Then, we will figure something out." Mr. Stratton didn't have answers and Milo knew that but he spited the man for it.

"But what? Just run from those monsters? You shot my brother." Milo shouted his voice shrill with hurt. "You shot him and the military shot my mom at the school, didn't they?"

"Calm down kid." Mr. Stratton shouted and turned onto the main street. There were no cars on the road, no people, nothing, yet out of habit he still drove 25 miles an hour.

"Don't fucking tell me to calm down!" Milo couldn't take it. His mind flashed with images of his brother dead on the floor. He opened the side door and Graham slammed on the break.

Wilco, the Australian Sheppard, who had been sitting in the back seat, squealed and slid off wedging himself behind the passenger seat.

Milo unbuckled his seat belt and leapt out of the car. "I can't leave," Milo walked away from the vehicle.

"Oh fuck me," Mr. Stratton slammed the door shut and sat in the car.

Milo heard his neighbor curse and hit the steering wheel. He had no idea what he was doing, but this was his home. It was empty and scary, but probably no less empty or scary than the rest of the world.

Spinning the car around, Mr. Stratton pulled up next to a sobbing Milo, "get back in," Mr. Stratton ordered. Milo hated this agro-alpha-male-bullshit.
"No," Milo shook his head. His mind was set on answers that Mr. Stratton didn't have. "I'm going to go look for survivors at the school."

"There were none." Mr. Stratton stopped the white Range Rover next to Milo.

"You survived. You just want to run away!" Milo countered, sounding obstinate. He wasn't going to take this tough guy's response because he didn't have to. Sure, Mr. Stratton saved his life, but beyond summer barbeques and saying hello as the garage door shut, there was no allegiance to this man.

"Barely," Mr. Stratton retorted, his face reddening and dark eyes narrowed. His temper started to spike.

"Maybe my mom barely survived." Milo wiped his tears away replacing his sadness with anger. He felt it bubbling up inside him and there was only one target in sight.