It was Nick.
When he saw us, the few who’d survived, he burst into tears and he thanked us. He had driven the others to Julius’ bunker. They’d been happily taken in, and everyone was all right. We left in groups, and then someone would drive back and shuttle the others. Here we stayed for at least a month, maybe two.
I remember seeing Mia when we got there, how she burst into tears. I remember how Monica smiled and giggled when I picked her up and made goofy faces at her. I remember Chewy barking and jumping into my lap as if he was a puppy again. I remember Nina and Sharon sobbing as they hugged. I remember George’s eulogy for the fallen. I remember the little girl, Paige, reading a poem she’d written about happiness. I remember Julius sharing his whiskey with whoever wanted some.
I remember it all.
The City was lost, true—but most importantly, we were together again.
All that happened about six months ago, I believe. The snow’s been melting steadily ever since—slowly but surely—but there’s still a lot on the ground.
The sun rises and it sets. There are very few dark clouds in the sky.
This morning in particular was one of the warmest yet. It was the first time the thermometer passed forty degrees Fahrenheit. T-shirt and shorts weather compared to the frozen hell we'd lived through.
I actually saw the red line hovering somewhere between forty and forty-five when I took Chewy out for his morning walk. This was around eight a.m., which always seems to be the time he climbs onto our bed with his leash dangling from his mouth.
I’m not scared to go out with him. I haven’t seen a wraith since the ritual. I hope I never see one again.
We are set up somewhere northeast of where the City once stood, in an abandoned housing complex called Shady Pines. Those who were in the bunker eventually fanned out, taking this new warmth as a sign to try and piece together their old lives. Naturally, the supplies dried up, and we had to move on from there too.
Ell and I have our own place. Mia and Monica and Stone do as well, but they’re always staying with us. We are still too afraid to be alone. Monica is a not-so-little-anymore ball of joy. She talks a lot—babbling with a few words thrown in for good measure, mostly.
I don’t know what the wraiths are or where they came from. All I know is they were as unnatural as the summer snow. But I do have my theories. Some of them are insane; some of them are just mildly crazy.
I think the monsters sensed a weakness amongst our species. Think about it. Before they arrived and destroyed so much, had humanity as a whole ever been more divided? A virus was raging all over the world, people were rioting in the streets, racism was still very much alive, most of the United States population was living paycheck to paycheck or just flat-out broke, global warming loomed over our heads like a shadow of death, governments all over were lying to their people, and it seemed we were always involved in some military conflict or on the brink of war.
The wraiths consumed our fear and despair; they relished in it. And if ever there was a time so full of fear and despair, it was the year 2020. The monsters saw a chance and they took it, but they didn’t realize how resilient we are. They didn’t expect a fight.
Never count us out. Never.
Where did they go, though? I don’t know the answer to that either. I hope they’re extinct. Eradicated, the way they tried to eradicate us. Who knows? Maybe they’re just regrouping. Maybe they’ll be back.
But if they do return, we’ll be ready for them.
Because this is our world. And they can’t take it from us.
Another month later and things are better still. We get closer to normalcy with each passing day. I know that’s not saying much now, because our sense of what’s normal is permanently skewed, but it’s better than the way things were.
Chewy wanted out a little earlier than usual today. I heard the tags on his collar jingling as he ambled up the footstool on my side of the bed. The digital clock on the nightstand read 5:22 a.m.
I hadn’t slept because I was trying to think of how to end this account. See, I want to give you one of those “…and then we lived happily ever after” lines, but I can’t.
Not yet, at least.
I can, however, get pretty close.
That early morning, as Chewy sniffed around the piles of melting snow and the first hints of sun shone down on us, a beautiful sound reached my ears. A sound I hadn’t heard since before the blizzards began.
It was the birds.
And they were singing.
Afterword
As the great Porky Pig once said: “Th-th-th-that's all folks!”
Thank you for sticking around. I thought the journey would go on longer than five books, but stopping here just felt…right.
Grady and the gang have found a bit of peace and a bit of happiness—for now, at least—and that’s all we really want in the end, isn’t it?
Flint Maxwell
10/12/20
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About the Author
Flint Maxwell lives in Ohio with his beautiful wife, daughter, and their four furry best friends.
