The Apocalypse of Plants

Tally

Dad always said that it doesn't matter where you're going, all it matters is who you're with. In this case, I guess neither matters, because, one, I have no idea where I'm going, and two, I'm all by myself. So what does matter? Finding my family, I answer mentally. Whenever I feel the darkness inside me pulling me down, I remind myself what really matters. My family.

Adam. Mila. Dad. My mom died giving birth to Adam thirteen years ago, and my older brother, Sawyer, committed suicide. Adam and Mila are twins, Mila is twenty-three minutes older. She holds that over him all the time. Like poor Adam needs a reminder. He constantly feels guilty, because he feels like he killed Mom. And I know Dad blames him, as much as he tries not to. That's a heavy burden for a thirteen year old.

The day that Mother Nature turned deadly was the day of Adam and Mila's field trip to Cedar Point. Dad decided to chaperone. I haven't seen them since, because the moment I got home from school, I packed a bag and left the house. Dad had been drilling us ever since the scientists said that this disaster was actually going to happen. They had no idea how it was even possible, but they knew. Dad said that when it happened, to just gather necessary supplies and go. He said not to worry about him, but that he'd try to find us. I don't think he was expecting it to happen on the day of the field trip, so I don't know if they have any supplies. I don't even know if they're still alive, but I refuse to give up hope.

So I've been looking for them ever since. My efforts have been futile and I have no idea how I'm going to find them. I probably won't find them. But if I let hope go, I think I'll die.

I haven't talked to someone since it started, but my dog, Scout, is with me. I wasn't planning on bringing her, but once she started whimpering with those big brown eyes, I couldn't just leave her. She's a gray Yorkshire Terrier, and named Scout after the main character from To Kill a Mockingbird, Sawyer's favorite book. After he died, we adopted her from a family friend and named her Scout We didn't have to beg Dad that much for her, because ever since Sawyer died, he's been drinking away his grief. There's barely a time when he's not drinking. I'm honestly not sure how he was approved to chaperone the field trip to Cedar Point.

Scout drags a dead animal back to me. She does that a lot. This time, it's a fox. Can you eat fox? I'm sure. But since the fox probably died by eating a poisonous berry, I'm not going to eat it. No matter how hungry I am.

So, instead of sentencing myself to death, I dig through my bag and pull out a packet of dry fruit. Since it's the only non-perishable thing we had in our house at the time, it's the only food I brought. I've been living off dry fruit for the past week and a half. I would kill for some meat that isn't contaminated. I would die for a taco right about now.

My nose crinkles as I eat a dry plum. I used to love dry plums, but after being forced to eat them everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I've kind of lost my appetite for them.

I wash them down with a swig of warm water. Dad had gotten all of us water purifiers before this disaster happened. Unfortunately, he didn't get the water bottles that keep the water ice cold.

A wave of drowsiness washes over me. I haven't slept for two days. It's actually a miracle I'm still alive and alert. I stumble to the ground and lay my red leather jacket over me. I'm cold. So cold. But I have no energy left to make a fire. I lie there, shivering, until sleep claims me.

~~~

It's the same dream. It's always the same dream. Sawyer's driving the car, the red ford, the same one he drove off the bridge. I'm in the backseat, but I'm not really there.

His favorite song, Heavy by Linkin Park, is playing. He turns it up. He honks the horn at the car in front of him. The Bridge of Dreams in Ohio isn't usually crowded, but for some reason, it's packed right now.

All of a sudden, all the cars are gone. It's just his red ford and the two of us. The railings are gone also. Numbness starts to spread over my body. I know what's next. It's the same thing every time.

He turns up the radio even more. The words are blasting.

I'm holding on

Why is everything so heavy?

Holding on

So much more than I can carry

I keep dragging around what's bringing me down

If I just let go, I'd be set free

Holding on

Why is everything so heavy?

He shuts off the radio and takes a deep breath. I close my eyes and brace myself. But the car doesn't start.

I open my eyes and peer at him. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. Usually he drives off the bridge right now.

He turns around and looks me straight in the eye.

"This is all your fault," he says calmly.

Then he steps on the gas pedal and sends the car flying over the side of the bridge.

~~~

I jerk awake, covered in cold sweat. I'm shaking, and I am very scared. That has never happened before.

The dreams started about a week after Sawyer died. We'd been told that he drove his red ford off the side of the Bridge of Dreams, taking a chunk of the railing with him. Some called it an accident, others, a suicide. But I knew which one it was. That was all the details we got. That was all the details there were.

I didn't sleep most of the first week. I kept wondering who pushed him over the edge. Was it me? Mila? Adam? Dad? Someone at school? I'd stay up trying to figure out his reason for killing himself. Maybe it was all of us. I got about eight hours of sleep in total in the whole week, and I still had no idea why Sawyer did it.

I finally stopped trying to figure out why, and instead, tried to imagine what he felt like before he drove off the bridge. Nervous? Scared? Calm? Did he know what he was doing? And in that moment, I became so mad at him for killing himself. I thought he was so selfish. I hated him for leaving us behind. Then I almost drowned in guilt. I couldn't believe I had felt that way. That was when the dreams started.

I keep thinking they're from him, a punishment for hating him. Like he keeps sending them to make me feel even guiltier. Now I'm almost quite certain of it because of the last dream.

This is all your fault.

Chills run down my spine. What if it was? What if I pushed him over the edge? What if I killed my brother?