After The End Read online

  The Emerge Series

  Boxed Set

  Included in the Boxed Set:

  Book 1: After The End

  Book 2: After We Emerge

  Book 3: After We Fight

  After The End

  Chapter 1

  The world ended seventeen years ago. I could be the last person left alive on this planet.

  At least that’s what I thought.

  Someone—or something—is knocking on the bunker door. They’ve been doing that for the last hour. Every time I gather up enough courage to place my hand on the doorknob, I imagine all the horrible creatures that could be on the other side and I lose the nerve.

  My parents warned me thousands of times about what could be roaming outside the bunker.

  Mutant tigers.

  Twisted rodents.

  Hungry coyotes.

  Radiation can do a lot of harm to animals, humans, and plants. The world outside my safe, underground bunker is too dangerous for me to step into. I’ve lived my whole life here and I’ve survived this long. I can’t risk it all just because someone is incessantly knocking on the door.

  Can I?

  Knock knock knock.

  I wish my parents were here. They would know what to do. They wouldn’t entertain silly ideas of opening the single door that stands between me and mutant animals. They would know better. Perhaps they would laugh and say it was just a tree branch flapping in the breeze.

  But I know it’s not. Whatever is knocking is using the hard bones of their knuckles, just like I would do. If the world didn’t end seventeen years ago, I might even think it was a human. But how could that possibly be?

  Knock knock knock.

  Perhaps animals have evolved and changed from all the radiation that destroyed the world? Maybe they’ve grown human-like hands and can now knock? I could be their next meal if I open that door.

  What I need is electricity. Fuel for the generator has been low for the last few months. I’ve been rationing it and only using it when the oxygen levels get so low I think I’m going to pass out and suffocate to death.

  Knock knock knock.

  If my choice is between suffocating or being eaten alive, I could probably spare the fuel enough to check on the outside cameras. I can justify using the gas, but just this one time. I’ll find out what is outside and then quickly cut the electricity. That’s what I’ll do.

  I take my time starting the generator, hoping above all else that the incessant knocking would just stop already. Today was supposed to be a day like all the other ones in my life. I have my routine. As long as I stick to it, I can pretend this is living. I just can’t think too much about my terribly small world in the bunker.

  The whir of the generator is a constant hum as I hurry over to the computer screen. It takes a few long moments to boot up. When it does, the screen flickers and makes it difficult to see. I click on the camera feeds and wait.

  There’s nothing but static.

  My parents installed two cameras outside the bunker. One faces the single door and the other faces outwards—toward the world outside. Neither of them are working now. Fuzzy gray snow blankets both camera feeds. I haven’t checked them for years, they could have gone out a long time ago.

  Knock knock knock.

  I’ve never had a need to check them before. Nobody has ever knocked on the bunker door as if it’s something completely normal to do. Seventeen years and not one single visitor. Not a solitary person or animal or creature has felt the need to knock on our door. And now the one who is won’t stop.

  My parents never prepared me for a situation like this. They said everyone would be dead after a few years because of all the radiation the meteorite brought to Earth. They said people weren’t prepared like they were. That nothing would save them aboveground. Billions of people died and should still be dead. Not knocking on my door.

  Knock knock knock.

  My father left journals. He was always writing in them. Maybe he thought about what he would do if someone knocked on the door. I dig out his notebooks from a steel chest next to the small couch and start flicking through them. My father was a scientist, he knew things ordinary people wouldn’t even think to know. Surely, he must have wondered what he would do in this situation?

  Come on, Dad.

  I flick through notebook after notebook. He wrote so much and drew so many pretty diagrams that they fill all the books. But they don’t mean anything to me. They don’t list in bullet points what I should do right now. I never thought to ask him when he was still alive.

  If he was here now, I would tell him that I loved him. And then I would ask him if I should open the door. I try to picture him and then predict what he would say right now. But clutching his notebook isn’t conjuring up the man. I don’t know for sure what he would tell me.

  Placing the books back in the chest, the lid makes a comforting thud as it closes. It’s been a while since I’ve opened it

  Knock knock knock.

  Maybe all I have to do is ignore the noise. They’ve been keeping up the knocking for almost two hours now. They must be getting tired of doing it. Their knuckles must need a rest.

  I wander around the bunker which is only sixteen feet wide by forty feet long. My parents bought it long before I was born and buried it underground. They always thought something was going to happen. The meteorite proved their paranoia right and they were the ones laughing at their ingenuity when M-Day happened. They hid in their bunker and survived. A few months later, I was born.

  My feet bring me to the pantry. I swing the doors wide open and scowl. The food—like the gas—has been running low for a while too. Rationing food is more difficult than rationing gas. My stomach rumbles to be filled and all I can do is find a distraction rather than eat.

  Mom and Dad had stocked the bunker with enough food to last for twenty years. I guess we must have got greedy sometime and used more than we should have. They had planned to set up a garden and make our food sustainable for infinity. They died before they had a chance to make their plans a reality.

  Which sucks for me.

  Everything in my world has existed inside this bunker. I don’t know the first thing about growing food. I only know what vegetables look like because I’ve seen them in books. I only know how they taste when they’re dehydrated or canned. My dad used to say they were much, much nicer when freshly eaten. I guess I’ll never know now because I have no frickin’ clue what I’m doing.

  Knock knock knock.

  I wonder if the thing outside has any food? Or perhaps they don’t and that’s why they’re knocking on my door. They might decide to take all the remains of my stock and then I’ll have nothing at all. But, maybe, they will help me find more food so I will never go hungry.

  The answer is impossible to know. I should have prepared myself for something like this happening a long time ago. But I believed my parents when they said everybody else was dead. The meteorite was so devastating that nobody could have survived. So, who is knocking on my bunker door now?

  It’s clear the thing isn’t going to quit now. They’ve been knocking for almost two hours. Who does that? I want them to stop but there is also a flicker of hope deep inside me that wonders if I might not have to be so alone anymore.

  Creeping to the door, I place my ear against the cold metal. This solid structure has kept me safe for seventeen years. How could I possibly think of breaking open the seal now?

  Knock knock knock.

  Impulsively, I knock back. Just three little taps and then another large one at the end. My heart is lodged in my throat as I wait to see what happens next.

  Knock knock knock KNOCK.

  They followed my pattern. I do another one. Two short taps and then a break before an
other two. It only takes a moment before it’s echoed back at me. Surely a creature wouldn’t be smart enough to do that? If a monster was on the other side of the six-inch steel, it wouldn’t copy me. It would launch itself at the door and try to tear its way through.

  The bunker seems way too quiet without all that knocking. For the first time in two hours, I have some peace in which to think clearly. I still can’t work out what I should do.

  So…

  I yell.

  “Who are you? What do you want?!”

  Considering the knocking pattern had returned so quickly, I probably expect more from the person outside than I should. There is nothing but silence being bounced back to me now. My shouts do echo but only because I’m trapped inside a steel bunker. Nothing answers from the outside.

  Perhaps they didn’t hear me. I try again. “Tell me who you are! I’m not opening the door without knowing who you are!”

  My voice is raw by the time I’m finished. I haven’t spoken to anyone since my father died eight years ago. Since then, I only speak to myself and even then it’s only to break the endless silence that surrounds me. My voice isn’t used to straining to such volumes.

  Whoever it is doesn’t even deign to reply. I’ve hurt my throat for nothing. My hands bunch into tight fists at my side. I’m suddenly so angry at the person out there. They’ve demanded my attention for two whole hours and now nothing? They just decide to ignore any other form of communication apart from knocking? Is that all they’re capable of? Why would I open the door to an imbecile who can only knock?

  I’m tired of being scared. Scared of running out of food. Scared of running out of gas. Terrified of living out my days in the bunker alone and hungry.

  And I’m tired of being scared of everything outside. My parents said I had to stay inside. They told me that all my life. It didn’t do them any good, did it? They still died of a cancer they couldn’t hide from.

  It’s time I took action.

  I’m ready for it.

  I’m going to open the door.

  Chapter 2

  The door is heavier than I thought it would be. I have to put all my weight into pulling it open. I guess after seventeen years of being firmly in one position, it’s going to groan when told to move. I only manage to open it halfway.

  But it’s enough.

  There are two brown eyes staring at me. They are big and round and seem surprised.

  The eyes are attached to a face. A shockingly beautiful brown-skinned face of a young male. His hair is wild and dark brown to match his eyes. His nose is a small slope that seems too little but also perfect. I can’t help but stare for a moment.

  He’s taller than me by at least a foot. His clothes are something like my dad would wear—jeans and a T-shirt. They’re old and worn but clean and not caked in filth like I would expect. He’s nothing like the creatures my parents warned me about.

  But looks can always be deceiving.

  “I have a gun,” I state bluntly. It’s technically true. My father kept a small pistol in the bunker but he forgot to bring bullets. He’d thought of so much and yet forgotten the one thing that could be used to defend us.

  The boy’s pink lips quirk into a small smile. He tugs a strap from around his shoulder which I hadn’t noticed before. On the strap is the longest gun I have ever seen. I think it’s called a rifle. He holds it up as if to say, ‘I have one too’.

  It’s all I need to believe this is one big mistake. I move to close the door as quickly as I can—which isn’t very quickly at all. Damn this heavy door and my spindly arms.

  “Please don’t,” the boy says.

  He doesn’t move, just stands there. If his expression hadn’t changed into that of a question, I would wonder whether it was him that had said something. There’s something about that expression. The fact he hasn’t moved or tried to hold open the door when it’s clear I’m trying to close it. Something that seems so…sad. It stops me in place.

  “What do you want?” I demand. He needs to give me some answers and explanations if he doesn’t want me to close this door. Maybe it’s already been open too long. Perhaps there is still radiation floating around out there from the meteorite. My parents said the effects would last for decades.

  Maybe it’s the radiation causing me not to think straight. My parents would die all over again if they saw the door open and me talking to a stranger.

  Even if he is cute.

  “Well?” I urge, tapping my foot at the same time.

  Can you see radiation in the air? Should I be holding my breath as much as I can so I don’t inhale it?

  “I’ve been searching for someone alive for years,” he says. His voice is like honey, all smooth and gooey. I’m not going to let it affect me.

  I’m not going to let it affect me.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, considering it a fair question. It doesn’t escape my attention that he said someone alive as if he’d found plenty of dead people. Perhaps he had something to do with their non-living status.

  His half-smile drops so his lips are a meaningless line. “No. I’m not going to hurt you. Why would I do that?”

  “Because people are crazy and radiation makes them do crazy things.”

  “What’s radiation?”

  “It’s the thing that killed everyone.”

  “I thought it was a meteorite.”

  My eyes roll. Surely everyone has heard the story of what ended our world? Maybe this boy didn’t have scientists as his parents. Perhaps they didn’t understand enough themselves to teach him about the catastrophic event.

  “The meteorite was full of radiation,” I explain as patiently as I can. My parents were always very patient with me. Even when I asked the stupid questions. “Radiation is poison to humans. It kills us and infects everything—the soil, the air, the animals. Everything.”

  “Oh,” he replies. There is no clue what he means by that ‘oh’. Did he understand, or did the crushing weight of the problem make his brain stop functioning?

  I don’t ask him to elaborate. While he’s staring at me, blinking, my gaze travels behind him for the first time to outside. I’ve never seen outside with my own eyes before. I’d seen a grainy black and white picture on the television screen. I’ve seen pictures in books that are so old now the pages are yellowed.

  Seeing it for myself, with nothing in between, is something else. Something completely different. I step out of the doorway, placing my foot on the ground outside for the first time in my life. Seventeen years and all I’ve ever felt underfoot was concrete and steel from the bunker.

  The ground is softer than that. It moves slightly when I walk, like it’s made from breadcrumbs. My foot doesn’t make a tapping sound as it hits the ground. The sound is muffled by the fallen leaves. And there are plenty of those.

  Trees are everywhere. Not the neat kind in my books. These ones are massive and overgrown. Their branches extend out forever with heavy vines weighing them down. They cover the place like a blanket, only letting in the sunlight if it peeks through the leaves. It’s all so green. Lush, vibrant green that seem so bright I might need to cover my eyes so they aren’t damaged.

  And the flowers. Stalks as tall as I am stand proudly from the ground. The colors have been stolen from the rainbow and used to paint each perfect petal. I want to run through them, touching everything so I know how it feels on my fingertips.

  They sway in the gentle breeze. It’s enough to remind me of all the radiation that must be out here. I have already inhaled too much. My skin absorbed too much. Everything out here is too much.

  As beautiful as it is, dread creeps into my stomach and makes a home there. The outside may be incredible but it is also incredibly dangerous. I don’t belong out here. My parents would shriek at me to get inside if they were here right now. Humans can’t survive outside anymore. Not since the meteorite. Not for seventeen years.

  I step back to the doorway and ignore the way the boy is staring at me
. “I have to close this door now.”

  “No, don’t. I have food,” he says quickly. The palms of his hands face up in front of him. I’m not sure what this gesture means. I also don’t know if I believe him.

  “Show me.”

  “It’s in my backpack.”

  “Then get it out,” I say, suppressing an urge to roll my eyes again. If there are still humans left, maybe the radiation has made them all a bit daft in the head.

  The boy moves slowly as he pulls his backpack around to the front and unzips it. He reaches in and pulls out a handful of plastic. “These are energy bars. I’ll share them with you if I can come inside for a while.”

  “You can’t stay here,” I say, even while salivating at the prospect of eating something different. I’ve existed off the same food my entire life.

  “Just while we eat,” he replies. At least he seems to understand that this bunker is mine. He can’t take it from me. Nobody can. That’s why I wasn’t supposed to open the door.

  I move away from the entrance so he can pass by me. He hesitates a moment and then hurries inside. The heavy door creaks and groans as I close it again. The click of the lock sounds final as I slide it into place. Nobody can get in now. I’m safe. As long as this boy doesn’t decide to kill me.

  He sits on the couch, his back upright and muscles tight. Good. He shouldn’t relax here. He can’t stay no matter how much food he has or how my heart races when I look into his gorgeous face. This is my bunker. Nobody else’s.

  I sit on the desk chair and swivel it around to face him. He hands me one of his energy bars. I tear into it quickly and then take a delicate bite. I want this taste to last as long as it can before I have to return to my paltry store of food.

  “My name is Garlind,” he says. “What’s yours?”

  I’ve never been asked what my name is before. My parents always knew. It’s so strange being with this human that knows nothing about me. I’m not sure I know how to do this. Interacting with others wasn’t something my parents prepared me for. I know how to survive, maybe, that’s all.