𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 59

Running Out

2035

Valencia

It's already late in the evening when I decide that I am officially done with decrypting the Morse code.

-- -.-- / -. .- -- . / .. ... / .- .. -.. .- -. .-.-.- / .-.. --- --- -.- / ..-. --- .-. / .- / -... ..- -. -.- . .-. .-.-.- / .- / .-.. .. -. . / --- ..-. / -... .-.. --- --- -.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / - . .-.. .-.. / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . / .-- .- -.-- .-.-.-

MY NAME IS AIDAN. LOOK FOR A BUNKER. A LINE OF BLOOD WILL TELL YOU THE WAY.

That's all I have in my notebook so far.

A LINE OF BLOOD WILL TELL YOU THE WAY.

Is he hurt?

Never mind, I'm not ready to contemplate.

After I went to the basement to store away my notebook again, I check after my brother.

Henry is still asleep. His behavior worries me. Not just slightly, but a lot. I remember him being awake as soon as I put him to bed every time for an afternoon nap and then he'd annoy me while I was trying to do basic household work. But right now, he is still asleep. A part of me thinks about the possibility of him being sick. I hope that this is just me overreacting.

My stomach growls, signaling me to eat. I haven't eaten anything despite today's breakfast. That was hours ago. Sighing, I get up from the worn wooden chair to go to the pantry of the kitchen. The red-painted pantry door swings open. My heart skips a beat, then drops completely. I have always made sure that we had enough food in stock. Sure, we always were low, but never ran out. But right now, I'm staring at the blank white metal shelves. Empty. Nothing is there.

I run my hands through my hair. How could this happen again? Everything was fine until yesterday, then shit hit the fan. We don't have medical supplies anymore, we're running low on food and then there is that Morse code message.

Why does that all happen now? We were fine two weeks ago...

I kneel and rummage through a few cardboard boxes littering the floor until I eventually find a can of leftover baked red beans. The can has been open for a few days when we were tired of eating salted crackers and needed something else. Now, I can only hope that it isn't growing mold yet. I get up from the wooden floor and place the can on the countertop. With a grimace, I bend back the metal lid as it cuts into my fingers. Nothing is moldy. The beans are okay, but ... There is barely anything left. Two tablespoons full - at maximum. I groan. I'll have to skip dinner again, otherwise Henry won't have anything. Speaking of which, I can hear footsteps on the ground and Henry peaks around the corner. "Valencia? I'm hungry..." he says. I walk over to him and feel his temperature with my hand. Nothing - he is fine.

But is he?

"Do we have anything?" he asks, bringing me back to reality from overthinking. I clear my voice and nod. "We have some beans," I reply, trying not to sound disappointed. Henry smiles but it turns into a frown when he stands on his tip toes to look over the edge of the counter. "But then you won't have any!" he exclaims. I shake my head softly and shove the can in his direction. "I'm strong, Henry. I don't need any. I'm a superhero." Reassuring him with lies doesn't deny the fact that meanwhile my stomach twists and churns because of my hunger. Henry smiles again, but it looks forced. I turn away to look for a spoon in the kitchen drawers, then I hand it to him. Taking a spoonful, his smile turns into a grimace. "I don't like it. It's cold and tastes like sand... I'm whispering, because the beans could get mad at me for bullying them," Henry admits, whispering. That makes me laugh more than it should. My body screams internally and I can barely stand up straight. I brace myself on the counter. My arms shake but I try to cover it up to not make Henry feel guilty. "Eat up, then I can read you a book," I offer.

Never do I like Henry seeing me suffer. I'm the second choice here. Henry always goes first. He is still a child. And I can't bring myself to tell him the truth about our shortage. It makes me feel like I forgot about him, like I failed the only thing I should be good at or am responsible for.

My little brother seems to notice that something is off. "What's wrong?" he asks with his mouth full of beans. I shrug, not wanting to answer, in the fear of breaking down in front of him right here and now. So I force the corners of my mouth to go up, in an attempt at a horrible smile. Henry giggles a bit and fiddles around with my hands lying flat on the cold marble of the kitchen counter. "You know, you can tell me everything. And if you don't want to tell me, then there is always Benni," he mentions and waves with the paw of his plush cow sitting next to the can on the counter. Like a maniac, he carries that plush cow - consisting of dirt and held together by a string - around everywhere, sometimes even when I don't notice it. Then it appears out of nowhere. Benni, the name he gave the stuffed animal I found while on a trip for supplies was the first word he spoke. The first word he spoke - at around three years old. I didn't know anything about parenting and I still don't. But I am trying and I love Henry like my own heart. He is my brother and I will take care of him.

I shake my head, focusing on reality and Henry munching in front of me. He finishes the few spoons of beans even faster than I had expected. As soon as he's done, he disappears from the kitchen and I soon hear the cluttering of plastic toys on the carpet in his room.

No reading a book then.

Still, I follow after him.