Chapter Text
Rain dampens the soil, two half-meter-deep holes deep in the ground, no caskets, no gravestones, just the knowledge that the grass won't grow back the same for a while.
Ailyn wishes her aunts and uncles were here to cry along with her, comfort her with well-meaning pats on the back, and promise to be there for her. Husbands aren't supposed to bury their wives, and daughters shouldn't have to bury their fathers; no one should die at forty-two due to pneumonia or at thirty-nine to sepsis, and she shouldn't be still alive, but being eaten by maggots along with them.
The once first-world country of Germany had turned into a husk of its past, the age-old buildings crumbling under their own weight, abandoned tanks, and rusting Humvees; the front lines dimmed after they realized you can't fight what you can't see, and now, there's nothing to fight anymore.
It's funny, nearly, or it would have been if it weren't real; in months, a new disease was discovered in the heart of India, and it spread like wildfire, yet no one outside of the affected areas seemed to care, giving shallow condolences at most.
The videos showcase how the illness made someone decay, how it liquefied personality and humanity and made their brains turn into soft mush inside their skulls; yet, funnily enough, the comments always showed little to no empathy—not until it spread to the West, at least.
It's ironic how fast the news picked up on the new Phonikos syndrome after that, considering it took way too long for the WHO to classify it as dangerous and another three months for the leading class to start preventative programs. "It would harm the economy," they said, chins raised high, standing above all earthly sympathies: "Sometimes we have to make sacrifices."
Well, it wasn't worth it because now, money has no worth beyond fuel for fires, and gold bars are the same as any other brick-shaped object.
Life went on; isolation, dread, military action, and eventually defeat all came with time, and the realization that this lifetime wouldn't be spent in the same lush comfort of previous generations dawned on everyone.
Berlin became overrun with infected in a matter of forty-six days; screams, growls, cries, and all other sounds of despair echoed through the town as Ailyn sat silently on the roof of her apartment building, huddled against her mother's chest.
It took seventy-five days for the infected to die off, leaving the streets desolate and empty, the smell of rotting flesh reeking through the once lively city.
Adjusting to her new life was difficult; never before had she thought about how to get electricity or clean drinking water, never before had she killed an animal before eating it, nor had she ever planted anything that hadn't died in a week.
But luckily for her, cigarettes don't expire, nor do clothes when they're vacuum sealed. Life was easy back when her parents handled it, a mindless mix of spending her days in the park with Sofia, missing the ramblings of the homeless woman in the background, and doing chores.
More difficult chores, sure; as it turns out, homemade fertilizer is just feces, and chickens aren't as friendly as they taste, but it was liveable.
It's been barely two days since her fathers passed, and Ailyn has yet to return home; she can't stand the emptiness of the apartment, can't stand the thought of the cold beds and the axe body wash never going empty.
Sofia has been kind enough to hide her in the basement of their apartment, bringing her soup and keeping her company on the falling-apart couch, talking about nothing and everything. She even helped Ailyn cut her hair, the blonde locks going from just underneath her bosom to shoulder length, making it purposefully messy and choppy, wild and unkept, just like her.
Something her parents would have never allowed.
It didn't feel as good as she expected it to.
Neither does staring at their graves; talking to them didn't help because there's no anwser, and pretending there is feels like putting words in their mouths, falsifying their lives, their being, for the sake of her comfort.
They're gone, their soul is at least, or whatever else makes a person themselves, and all that is left are empty husks made of flesh, blood, and all things gooey and gross.
Today is Sunday, the second of March; if schools still existed, Ailyn would have been excited for the start of her spring break. She would have driven back to her grandma's house in the Netherlands and had cake and coffee on her front lawn, enduring the comments about how it isn't real coffee if you add cocoa powder.
But this spring break, she is going home to finally move on from everything. Her home in Germany, in Munich, her true home.
Taking a deep breath and saying her last goodbye to her parents, Ailyn turned her back to them and gave a reassuring nod to Sofia, silently conveying that she was okay, or at least not currently breaking down internally.
Sofia's father had always been the most strict with her; the last born, the only girl, the only one with hope of going to University and achieving something better than being a mechanic or plumber, as her brothers did.
More thoughtful, stronger, and more resilient than the rest of the family, the rough jewel waiting to be polished and traded for money.
Sofia had agreed to drive Ailyn to Munich relatively quickly, only wanting twenty-four hours to pack her things and argue with her father one last time. One last day to ask for him to see her as more than a way out of poverty, to see her as a person and not an extension of himself, a project, clay to mold.
Ultimately, it only took her six to be done; her father had nothing left for her after the dream of a successful heir crumbled along with their society and life.
The way to the car is quiet, the silence heavy and uncomfortable to bear, but both are too fearful to break it. Sofia had always been the smarter one, the one between them who kept a cool head and talked Ailyn out of her usual shenanigans, which meant that going home wasn't a half-bad idea. Or perhaps it is, and Sofia has given up on being the peacekeeper.
The doors of the old Honda Civic they picked for the special occasion groan as they open. The car has no radio after someone stole it half a decade ago, and the left window won't roll up or down again, but it's still better than cycling all the way.
They put their bags in the trunk; Ailyn brought her worn-out backpack, the one with too many stickers and pins, and the glued-on strap where she kept her notebook and pen for her entire school life past fourth grade.
The drive is surprisingly calm for the first ten minutes; the roads in Berlin are still well-kept, so Sofia can take her focus off the road without crashing into a stray piece of rubble.
Quiet enough to strike up a conversation.
"Do you want to see anything in Munich? Or on the way? Maybe we could take a dip in the Danube, or we could see if someone has already raided the mall, or we could see if any of the churches are still standing, or-"
Sofia cuts her off, the almost white bleached front strands of her hair falling over her eyes: "I know, I know. I have a plan. We'll drive through Zwickau and Regensburg, so there will be no Danude. Maybe some forest."
The blonde sighs deeply in response, thumping her temple against the window: "...are you still up for shopping?"
Sofia snorts in response, her usual, pig-like version of a short chuckle, only slipping around when Ailyn is there: "It's more scavenging than shopping, no?"
"Maybe, but it's fun. And you could finally try wearing skirts above knee-length."
The brunette turns her head towards the other girl, a sly smirk gracing her chapped lips: "Oh, it'll be miniskirts and thigh-highs with garter belts. Along with a crop top."
"You should!" Ailyn encourages, her dark green eyes widening with excitement. "You have the perfect build for it, and I can just imagine you in a crop top with a golden belt or waist chain; you'd be rocking it."
Ailyn teases, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Sofia is thin and tall, with long legs, slender fingers, and high cheekbones; her build is close to that of a secretary bird, though Ailyn would never say that.
Sofia scoffs in response, shaking her head disapprovingly: "I enjoy how I look. I don't need to be looking sexy or cute or whatever else there is. I like the academic vibe, just like you enjoy looking like a modern-day hippie."
Her lips pull into a wide grin as she speaks, revealing her slightly yellow teeth, the edge of her right canine chipped off just the tinniest bit chipped off.
The part of Ailyn that she keeps in the back of her head is screaming at her to look away from her lips, from her face, from her eternity because 4 in 100 is too low of a chance to destroy the best friendship she ever had.
She isn't even in love; love feels like butterflies stroking the inside of her stomach, heat rushing through her veins, like passionate dances in the moonlight, roses, and bad boys going for good girls.
Love isn't these sudden thoughts of quick pecks, carding her fingers through those dark brown locks, pulling her closer, sleeping through the night with their heads pillowed by grass inside a vast field, the sound of her even breathing.
Just the two of them, no eyes or cameras, no whispered comments, no angry mothers and fathers.
There is no heat in her heart whenever these thoughts cloud her mind; just cold blood, pure terror.
Therefore, it isn't love but a manifestation of her mind seeking out a specific form of connection she had never felt before, not from those strangers on the internet or from her classmates.
"I'm not a hippie." Ailyn anwser after a suspiciously long silence: "It's called forest grunge. And it's better than looking like you're late for your philosophy hearing at Uni."
The rest of the drive out of Berlin is filled with the two squabbling over fashion: is being a hippie a lousy thing, forest grunge an actual genre, or did Ailyn make it up?
The roads get worse the further they are out from the
city, everything but the highway is littered with fallen trees, debris, and the occasional abandoned car, humvees specifically.
The sun slowly sets, turning the sky from a pale blue ver to a vibrant pink, setting down to a deep black, the stars shining brighter than ever now that the light pollution is gone.
The air turns cold, a breeze creeping through the unclosed window every so often, and Ailyn rests he head against the window, breathing in the pollen and grass-filled air.
"We are close to some village." Sofia announces, causing Ailyn to perk up: "And I'm tired of driving; my eyes are so dry it's painful."
"And what are we gonna do there? Just pull over and we can sleep in the car."
"I'm not doing that, I'll freeze my balls off."
"You don't have balls."
"Not yet. Anyway, I drive, so I decide. We are stopping there, we are finding a place to sleep, and we are sleeping in an actual bed." Sofia scolds her tone form, sounding almost like Ailyn's mother when she got called for a parent-teacher meeting for the third time that week.
The blonde is about to argue back before the car halts to a stop, the rubber tires screeching against the asphalt, a high, screeching sound, grating.
Ailyn gasps in surprise, the polyester of the seatbelt abruptly digging into her chest painfully, her neck aching from the whiplash, voice heavy with panic as she turns to the other girl: "The hell? Why did you stop?"
Green eyes turn to the windshield, seeing a masculine figure about one meter and ninety centimeters, heavy around the midsection with strong, prominent shoulders, just inches away from the car's hood.
The brunette stays silent, eyes focused on the road ahead, chest rising and falling rapidly in shock and what Ailyn assumes to be terror, nearly screaming at whatever just jumped in front of their Honda: "Get the fuck away from my car!"
The looming figure doesn't respond immediately, just staring at them, their expression obscured by the darkness of the night; instead, they come closer, leaning down beside the window on the driver's side and speaking in a booming, deep, raspy voice: "People like you don't come here."