Lake Che

Chapter Seven

Charlie

We're in San Fernando when we realize that we hadn't thought about which road we were going to take.

"Okay," Jade begins,

"We can either follow the road through Burbank, which will make us have to pass by LA and Glendale,"

"Or?" Vincent asks.

"Or we can go through the road to Santa Monica, which is much safer but way longer."

"Let's go with Santa Monica." Vincent immediately decides. I feel like, since we went on this weird adventure, Vincent forgot that I existed. I want to speak, but my mouth just won't open. I'm tired and sweaty and I can barely walk anymore.

While we're walking, we spot what could only be described as a miracle, A car that seems completely undamaged. We bash the window in with a rock and find the keys sitting there, waiting for us to use them. We do a test run and the car runs perfectly fine.

While cruising down the streets, we glance at the buildings that were once glimmering and bustling, but now are nothing but dystopian shells of what they used to be, barren and lifeless. Just like Lake Che, wildlife takes over the city. Rats are incessantly running around the city, without regard for any human that might trample them. We drive all the way to Sherman Oaks, taking in the sight of everything around us. The world is bleak; no signs of human life are present. I can't say that I don't like this world at this state. No traffic, no police, and most importantly: no Jehovah's witnesses. Fuck Jehovah's witnesses.

While we talk about how creepy it is to be in a car without the radio on, I take another glance at Jade in the rear-view mirror. Her shoulders are a bit broad, uncommon for girls our age. Her neck is wide and her eyes are the same shade as mine. I still don't like her; something about her is uncanny as fuck. Then again I don't like anyone. Vincent starts making conversation.

"So, Jade, how were things with you before shit went down?" He interrogates.

"Mostly boring. I was just about to join the military before everything happened, but even then, my mom disapproved. It's not like she didn't prime me for it; she made me learn martial arts since I was eight." She twirls her hair.

"What about your dad?" He queries.

"My dad was the softer one. Whenever I got in trouble with my mom, he'd have my back. The only thing I hated about him was that he watched Marvel movies. I hate those."

"What school did you go to?"

"My parents almost moved us to Lake Che and sent me to Oakleaf, but they ended up staying in Santa Clarita." She takes her fingers out of her hair.

"Crazy that we almost ended up in the same school." Thank God we didn't.

"You're from Lake Che?"

"Yup! How was school in Santa Clarita?"

"Not the best; my friends weren't very... consistent. After sophomore year we all just started to grow apart, then somehow in senior year, I found myself all alone." It's a sad sob story, but I can't bring myself to feel bad for some reason.

After stepping out of the car, we seek shelter in the entrance of an abandoned apartment building and sit down to eat our packed food. With the help of Vincent, we break into some of the apartments. It's dead body galore. One of the apartments we looted had only one man's corpse, but had a picture of a family of 4. I wonder what happened to them.

Sherman Oaks is a ruin. The buildings slowly being corroded, the rats that squeak incessantly, and the corpses laying on the ground illustrate that even the greatest developments can't resist a disaster like this. The roads used to be bustling with traffic and surrounded by shops, only for them now to be covered in human remains. I say remains because not all of the dead bodies are whole. When global hunger started to rise, as farms had no one to run them, people thought it was a good idea to try another option: human meat. They died from infection and prions. It was creative, though. We walk all the way to Santa Monica.

°

We're a bit past Santa Monica and all I can think of is how I want to leave. I want to be somewhere safe with a mug of hot chocolate with a perfectly precise amount of sugar poured carefully into it. I'd watch a horror movie and eat popcorn right after. I shouldn't have gone along with Vincent and Jade's idea, but that's my life. Regret after regret, over and over again. But now, I'm left wondering: Where would I even go from here? Back to the Tudor house where the camp is hunting for us? Would looting the shipment satisfy the longing for internal peace I've always had? Or should I just be here now, watching the life drain out of my body? I guess I'll never know.

We're looking for a place to crash as the night sets in when we find a local coffee shop, completely empty. The chairs are dusty and lonely from having not been pulled out for months now. The counter has empty plastic cups stacked on top of it. We set our bags on the counter and walk into the kitchen to scavenge. There's milk that's gone bad, brown and white sugar in jars covered in bugs, and a rusty kettle. The only thing that seems like it hasn't expired is the coffee. I try to reach the coffee shelf, but it's about 4 inches too tall for me. Vincent shows up from behind me, putting his stomach to my back. Its surprising that he's maintained his figure this far. I can feel his abs pressing up against my back, they're squishy and firm at the same time. It's weird.

He grabs the coffee from the shelf, walks away, and turns on the kettle. He carefully pours roughly equal amounts of coffee into each mug, his veins showing as he grips the handle. We grab our mugs and take our seats at one of the coffee tables.
We're taking the first sip of our coffee when we hear a knock on the door.