From the Other Side

From the top of his skyscraper, Alex could see the entire destroyed city. Roots cracked through cement. Vines grew up telephone poles, pink flowers blooming across the wires. Weeds sprung through the asphalt. Nature slowly reclaimed the city. It was beautiful yet heartbreaking, and from his perch Alex was a witness to it all. But he liked his rooftop. No broken glass. No smell of decay. No corpses. No apocalypse.

Well, until he looked over the roof’s edge. Then he couldn’t ignore the half-a-mile wide Gash in the earth’s crust, so deep it seemed to reach its center, and so long he couldn’t see its end. That’s where the things had come from. And where they promptly returned to each night after picking off survivors one by one. However, after eight months, there weren’t many survivors left.

Alex pulled out a plastic storage container that he’d found in one of the abandoned apartments. It was a terrible puke-orange color, but perfect for storing supplies. He pulled out a notebook, took off the lid, and started counting:

Five cans of baked beans.

Two bags of Hot Cheetos.

Three and a half Twinkies.

Five packages of applesauce.

Seven triple A batteries.

A bar of soap.

Eight sticks of deodorant.

And a calendar.

Alex thumbed through the months till he landed on today’s date, May twenty-eighth. He’d circled it in red pen and written in capital letters: PROM.

Alex tried to laugh at the irony, but the stinging pain lodged in his throat turned it into a bitter grunt. Today should’ve been one of the best days of his high school experience. Mom would’ve slicked back his hair with enough gel to ensure his hair never moved again. Pedro would’ve teased him for wearing a three-piece tuxedo, as any best friend would do. Julie, Alex’s younger sister, would’ve taken a million pictures, trying to find the perfect angle. Dad would’ve given him strict instructions to open all doors for his date. And his date, well…

Alex looked across the Gash to a skyscraper made of a metal and glass so shiny it seemed to be made of mirrors. He closed the calendar. His date didn’t matter much. The whole scenario didn’t matter at all. He was living in the apocalypse. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

Alex put the lid back on the container, sat down in a wooden chair with a partially intact cushion, and looked out over the eerily quiet city.

Sometimes it felt like he was the last person alive.

Orange light filled the streets as the sun dipped towards the horizon, the things scurried back into the Gash, and Alex drummed his fingers against the railing. Waiting for the sun to disappear was always the worst part. It sank slowly, slowly, slowly until it was dark enough for Alex to turn on his lantern.

On the mirrored skyscraper across the Gash another light turned on. It glowed brighter than any of the stars in the night sky.

“Are you there?” A voice, sweet and warm, reached across the Gash.

His shoulders relaxed. Lynn had lived another day. And so had he. Alex raised his makeshift megaphone to his lips. “How goes it on the other side of the apocalypse?”

“I found a tube of lipstick today that hasn’t melted.”

He leaned against the railing, wanting to be even an inch closer to her. “Oh?”

“Little good it does me though.”

“You know—” He stared at her flickering lamp, wondering if she was staring at him too— “It looks great from over here.”

“Who knows? Maybe the things have a rule about sparing teenage girls wearing ‘summer crush’ lipstick.”

Alex laughed. “I’m out of luck then.”

Her light tone turned serious. “How are your supplies?”

Alex eyed the puke-orange container. “I’ll last another few days at least.” Across the Gash the light of his lantern reflected off her skyscraper, creating a warm glow over the entire building. “I… Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Prom was supposed to be today.”

Silence. For one, two, three heartbeats.

Lynn’s voice drifted across the Gash, barely a whisper. “Mine was last week.”

Alex’s throat tightened. She would’ve looked stunning in her dress, but the things had had other plans. “How are your supplies?”

“I just restocked.”

Alex nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Good.”

“Who were you going to ask?”

“To prom?”

“No, to apocalypse-coming.”

Alex chuckled. “Let me think.” There had been Cristina Adams, Nadine Johnson, or Lucy Wheeler. But… His eyes drifted back to the rooftop—to the light shining at its tippy-top and the girl leaning over the railing with a megaphone pressed to her lips. And Alex couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “Would you like to go with me?”

“Me?” She sounded shocked.

He pressed the megaphone tight against his lips. “No, the Lynn on the other skyscraper.” 

Alex imagined her holding back a smile, pieces of her hair catching in the faint breeze, and her perfectly shaped fingernails tapping the side of the megaphone while she thought. “I’d go with you.”

“Wonderful,” he said, his heart doing something funny. “So I’ll pick you up at eight?”

The joke crashed and burned somewhere between his rooftop and hers. He cringed. It had been a stupid thing to say. There was no way to cross the Gash. No way to reach her. “Well, that’s not…” His brain worked overtime to try and correct his blunder. “What I meant is—”

“Alex?” Lynn asked, the tone of her voice filled with the same passion she had when talking about the value of a consistent skin care routine.

“Lynn?”

“I…” She paused for a few moments too long. “Well, I…”

Alex felt it too. The unspoken words. He’d started to feel them after two weeks of their nightly talks. Back then they’d only discussed reports on supplies, injuries, and other logistical things.

Then Lynn had asked about his hobbies, then he’d asked about her favorite actor. They’d talked about which superhero was best, where they wanted to go to college, what food their moms had made for them when they were sick, what car they’d drive when they got their licenses. They’d talked and cried about lost friends and family. Now it had been six months, and over those months, his feelings had only grown.

And Alex wondered if they had instead crossed paths on the morning train or at a basketball game or at the convenience store on Fifth Street, if he would’ve stopped and talked to her. Would he have had the courage to ask for her number? Would she have said yes?

The moonlight illuminated the ruined city with a soft, white glow. Alex closed his eyes. If the apocalypse had never happened would he and Lynn still have been friends? Would his face still grow warm when he thought of her laugh or the way her voice grew higher when she was teasing? Would his heart still race when he thought of holding her hand?

But something about it felt wrong. They were in the apocalypse, after all. Survival was what mattered. Not some ridiculous feeling. Yet…

“I love you.” Alex’s voice felt too loud, yet too quiet. His vowels rang through the destroyed city. His consonants tearing at the crumbling walls. The words tumbling over each other and building until they washed over the skyscraper on the other side. Lynn’s light flickered and the silence between them grew.

Alex clutched the megaphone in his hands, wondering if he’d messed things up. What if she never responded? What if he’d have to face the rest of his life truly and completely alone?

“You’d better be here tomorrow,” Lynn finally said.

Relief warmed him from head to toe. “And why is that?”

“Because—” Her voice sounded quiet, yet sure— “I love you too.”

Alex smiled. Their love bridging the distance that they couldn’t.