Barely Alive

November

The pounding on the glass door continued, the voices outside growing louder while Sesa stood frozen, torn between empathy and realistically thinking. His breath came in short, sharp gasps as he clutched the metal rod in his hand, his knuckles white from the pressure. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Seeing the three figures outside broke the calm he had felt for weeks.

“Open the door! Please!” The taller boy’s voice cracked with urgency, his words muffled by the thick glass. He shifted the motionless child on his back, glancing nervously over his shoulder. The shadows moved in the distance, the shambling forms of the creatures—the colonies, as he’d come to call them—closing in.

“No,” Sesa whispered to himself, his heart hammering. “ They’ll bring them here. They’ll bring death.”

But his resolve faltered as the taller boy’s eyes met his, silently begging for help. The boy’s mouth moved, but Sesa couldn’t hear the words over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Before he could make a decision, the taller boy’s eyes darted to the side. He spotted the takeaway food window near the cashier desk, partially open and only a few feet from the glass doors. He quickly adjusted the child and ran toward it.

Sesa’s eyes followed the boy, his body still rooted to the spot. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop this, to shut the window before it was too late. But his body wouldn’t obey. He stood there, trembling, as the taller boy hoisted the child through the window and climbed in after him.

The boy with the axe wasn’t far behind. He threw the weapon through the window first, the heavy metal clattering against the tile floor. The sound snapped Sesa out of his daze, and he instinctively turned toward the noise. But before he could react, the boy’s wiry frame followed the axe, his boots scraping against the edge of the window as he pulled himself inside.

Sesa staggered back, his grip tightening on the rod. His eyes darted to the taller boy, who was now lowering the child carefully to the floor. The little boy trembled, his body shaking with silent sobs. Sesa’s gaze lingered on him, his chest tightening as he took in the boy’s tear-streaked face and wide, terrified eyes. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, far too young to endure the horrors that had become their reality.

The taller boy turned toward Sesa, his expression tense but grateful. “Help us block the window,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

Sesa didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl of fear and anger and guilt. He wanted to yell, to demand an explanation, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Now!” the boy with the axe snapped, his voice cutting through the haze. He was already shoving a heavy metal shelf toward the window, his movements quick and efficient.

Snapping out of his stupor, Sesa nodded stiffly and moved to help. They secured the window with the shelf, pressing it tightly into place. The boy with the axe added a few more items—a crate of canned goods, a broken chair—until they were confident the makeshift barrier would hold.

The room fell silent save for the sound of their labored breathing. Sesa turned to the child, who was still trembling on the floor. The boy clung to him, his small hands gripping Sesa’s shirt with surprising strength.

“It’s okay,” Sesa murmured, though he wasn’t sure if the words were meant for the boy or himself. He glanced at the taller boy and the one with the axe, his gaze hardening. “Who are you? And what the hell were you thinking, bringing them here?”

The taller boy extended a hand after a moment of tense silence. “I’m Adam. That’s Josh,” he said, nodding toward the boy with the axe, who was now examining his hands. “And you’re…?”

Sesa hesitated. His eyes briefly met Adam’s, catching a glimpse of something behind the layers of dirt and exhaustion—a silent story of struggle and resilience. He hesitated to take Adam’s hand, guilt at the edges of his thoughts as he remembered freezing at the door. But after a moment, he reached out and shook it, the gesture awkward but sincere.

“Sesa..” he muttered.

Josh rolled his eyes, still annoyed. “Not helping us and not being friendly. Great combo,” he said dryly, his attention returning to the blood on his hands.

“You’re bleeding,” Sesa noted, shifting his gaze to Josh’s hands.

Josh glanced up, his expression unreadable. “It’s not mine,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Got into a fight with the zombies on the way here. Took care of it.”

Unlike Josh, Adam seemed to be the one injured, his ankle bruised and his knuckles scratched. Sesa worked in silence, the soft rustling of the first aid kit punctuated by the occasional hiss of breath from Adam as antiseptic stung his wounds. His fingers were quick but careful as he wrapped a bandage around Adam’s knuckles, his movements practiced from weeks of patching himself up. Despite his focus, his mind raced with questions, doubts, and an underlying frustration he couldn't fully articulate.

“What were you thinking?” Sesa muttered under his breath, unable to hold back his thoughts any longer. “Bringing a child out there.” His voice was low, but the accusation was clear.

Adam flinched, whether from the sting of the antiseptic or Sesa’s words, it was hard to tell. He glanced over at Francis, who was perched on a crate a few feet away, his small hands clutching the water bottle Sesa had offered moments ago. The boy had taken it reluctantly, his wide, wary eyes darting between the adults as though he were waiting for something to go wrong.

“He’s safer with us,” Adam said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of conviction.

“Safer?” Sesa shot back, his voice rising slightly. He caught himself and glanced at Francis, lowering his tone again. “You call dragging him through this nightmare safe? He’s a kid, Adam. He should be… I don’t know, anywhere but here.”

Adam didn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting to his hands as Sesa secured the last bandage. His expression was hard to read—part guilt, part exhaustion, and something else Sesa couldn’t place.

“There isn’t anywhere safe anymore,” Adam said finally. His voice was soft but firm, like a quiet truth he’d repeated to himself countless times.

Sesa wanted to argue, to tell Adam he was wrong, that there had to be a better way. But the words stuck in his throat, and he settled for a frustrated sigh instead.

Francis had inched closer to Josh during the exchange, the boy’s small frame half-hidden behind the older teen. Josh, still leaning against the makeshift barrier near the window, didn’t seem to notice—or care. He was focused on cleaning the blade of his axe with a rag, his expression detached and almost unnervingly calm.

Sesa couldn’t help but frown at the sight. The way Francis seemed to gravitate toward Josh, clinging to the edge of his shirt as though he were a lifeline. It wasn’t just the blood-streaked axe or Josh’s distant demeanor; it was the nagging feeling that the boy had seen too much, endured too much, to know any better.

“His name is Francis,” Adam said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer now, less defensive, as if he were trying to bridge the growing tension between them. “He’s… my brother.”

Sesa looked up, meeting Adam’s tired eyes. The dust and grime clinging to his face did little to hide the lines of exhaustion etched into his features. There was a fresh scrape near his left eyebrow, faintly oozing blood. Sesa dabbed at it with a clean cloth, his movements slower this time.

“You need to eat,” Sesa said instead of responding to Adam’s statement.

Adam smiled faintly, a shadow of warmth crossing his face. “You sound like my mother.”

Sesa stiffened, unsure how to respond to the sudden shift in tone. The remark caught him off guard, leaving him momentarily disarmed. But before he could gather his thoughts, Adam turned toward Francis, his voice gentle.

“Francis, it’s okay,” Adam said, gesturing toward Sesa. “You can trust him. He’s on our side.”

Francis hesitated, his small hands tightening around the water bottle. For a moment, Sesa thought the boy might ignore Adam entirely. But then, slowly, he shuffled forward, his movements cautious but deliberate. He settled on the floor beside Sesa, clutching the bottle like a fragile treasure.

Sesa glanced at Adam, confused by the sudden shift. The faint smile Adam offered only deepened his bewilderment.

“We’re all just trying to survive,” Adam said quietly, as though the words were meant for himself as much as anyone else.

Francis stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the floor as he sipped from the bottle. Sesa didn’t press him, unsure of what to say or do. The boy’s presence felt like a heavy weight in the room, a stark reminder of the fragile line they all walked.

And yet, as the minutes stretched on, the tension in Sesa’s chest began to ease—just slightly.

The day passed chaotically, the tension lingering like a heavy fog even as things began to settle. Sesa, reluctant but practical, handed over some canned food and crackers for dinner. He wasn’t particularly generous, but he couldn’t ignore the empty look in Francis’s eyes—or the way Adam’s hands trembled as he took the food.

They stayed in the grocery store for the night, a rare sanctuary in the midst of chaos. The air conditioner hummed softly, a luxury that Sesa didn’t take lightly. Electricity was his lifeline here, and he used it sparingly, knowing it could vanish at any moment. For now, though, it kept the room cool and the silence bearable.

The newcomers had taken the opportunity to clean themselves up using the store’s small restroom. When they returned, they looked more like people and less like ragged survivors pulled from the wreckage. Francis, his face free of grime, appeared even younger—his vulnerability sharper in the dim light.

After eating, the boy finally fell into a deep sleep, his head resting on Adam’s lap. Adam leaned back against the wall, staring blankly at nothing in particular. His breathing was steady, but his eyes carried a weight Sesa couldn’t quite decipher. Outside, the faint growls and occasional scraping of the creatures broke the silence, a grim reminder of their ever-present danger.

Sesa sat across from Adam, his back against a shelf. He’d spent the last few days observing the creatures from the safety of the store, piecing together patterns in their behavior. They were more active under sunlight, moving faster and with more urgency. He wasn’t sure why—some primal reaction to light, maybe. It reminded him of scenes from old zombie apocalypse movies, though reality was infinitely worse.

His thoughts wandered, dark and heavy. He’d already envisioned his own end countless times, the scenarios playing out in vivid detail whenever he closed his eyes. He didn’t expect to survive much longer, and hope had become a foreign concept. His focus now was on the present—each passing hour, each breath, a small victory.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional rustle as Josh shifted in his sleep. The boy had fallen asleep sitting upright, but his body gradually tilted sideways until he nearly slid to the floor. Adam stifled a quiet chuckle, his lips twitching upward for the first time since they’d arrived.

Sesa watched him closely, curious about the man sitting across from him. Adam seemed oddly calm, almost detached, as though he’d found some private oasis of peace within himself. It was unnerving and, at the same time, oddly reassuring.

“You’re handling this mess pretty well,” Sesa muttered, breaking the silence.

Adam glanced at him, his expression softening. “You have to, don’t you?” he said simply. “If you let it get to you… you’re as good as dead.”

Sesa hesitated, unsure if there was anything to say. He’d been lucky. The grocery store had kept him alive, shielded him from the worst of it. He didn’t have to scavenge or fight for scraps like the others out there. But that didn’t make him immune to the fear, the creeping dread of what was to come.

“You’re lucky,” Adam said, almost as if reading Sesa’s thoughts. “This place… it’s a haven. For now.”

“For now,” Sesa repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze drifted to the sleeping boy on Adam’s lap. “What about him? You think he’ll make it?”

Adam’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “He has to,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Adam studied Sesa for a moment, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. “You’ve been jumpy since we got here,” he said, his voice calm but probing. “What’s your deal?”

Sesa looked at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Adam shrugged, picking at a tear in his sleeve. “You’re quiet. Always watching, but never saying much. I get it—none of us signed up for this. But it’s like you’re waiting for something.”

Sesa’s stomach tightened. He didn’t answer, instead focusing on a crack in the floor tiles.

Adam tilted his head, studying him. “How long were you here alone?”

“Too long,” Sesa muttered.

Adam nodded, as if that made sense. “And you survived. By yourself. That’s not easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Sesa admitted.

“So how’d you do it?” Adam asked, leaning forward slightly. His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. “How’d you make it here and last this long?”

The question hit Sesa like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to answer but found no words. His mind raced, replaying the past weeks—Nora’s pale face, her trembling hands, the way her voice had faded to nothing. The long, sleepless nights. The sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears as he hid from the creatures outside.

His throat felt tight. “I… I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Adam didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

“Not knowing is fine,” Adam said at last, his voice softer. “But if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to get yourself—or us—killed.”

He doesn’t know how to answer that without guilt, and every night he has to force himself to sleep knowing the nightmares and horrors will always crawl on his head.