As it turns out, the footsteps belong to a tall skinny girl with pitch black hair and almond shaped eyes. She’s grinning ear-to-ear and running into Dave’s open arms as soon as she steps foot into camp.

“Dave!” She cries, vibrating loudly with excitement, “We got so much done on our adventure! Buck was so cool when he killed all those rabbits and that deer and Jian’s map is coming out so well it looks like it came from a book!! Jian was kind of mean to me during the trip but I saved them from falling into the river yesterday so they’ve been real nice to me since. I missed you guys!”

Dave grins hugely at her, “Electra! We missed you too! I’m glad to see y’all’re safe, and that y’all’re gettin’ on better. God knows the two a ya can butt heads something awful.”

“That’s just because Jian’s such a killjoy. They’re, like, allergic to having fun.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” He scolds her gently with a poorly concealed shit-eating grin on his face, “You haven’t seen them take b-ball shots at the garbage.”

With an equally shit-eating grin on her face, she scoffs, “Oh, I’ve seen them. I just think you have to be good at it for it to be fun.”

Connor bursts out laughing at that, wrapping her up in a massive bear hug, “Roasted! Damn, E, I missed having you around. Camp’s been way too quiet without you.”

“I figured it would be plenty loud with Gio back,” She quips, not missing a beat, sticking her tongue out over Connor’s shoulder at the insulted and spluttering Gio. Things definitely seem more exciting now that she’s here.

Electra trots up the hill to drop off her backpack, leaving you and the others to your echoing laughter. More rustling makes you turn your head, and when you do, you see another person emerge from the thickets. You figure that it must be Jian, because it’s certainly not Buck.

They’re dark skinned and pudgy, wearing basketball shorts that are way too big for them and scowling like someone killed their dog. You wonder if they heard Electra making fun of them.

“Hey, Jian!” Dave greets them with a perky little wave, “Anything to report?”

They snort derisively, “Nothing exciting, bro, that’s for sure. Map’s coming along okay, so I guess the trip wasn’t a complete waste. Buck got some game too, so it’s all good in the hood, man.”

Their voice is pinched and nasally, which immediately grates on your nerves. The way they speak like a particularly stupid frat boy certainly doesn’t help, either, and you have to resist the urge to massage your temples. That’d be a bit rude.

“Who’re these assholes?” Jian asks, gesturing towards you and Harley with stubby fingers. They look distinctly unimpressed.

Connor shakes his head, toothy grin on full display, “C’mon, Jian, play nice! That’s Flash and Harley, we found them on our little excursion to buttfuck Egypt.”

“Hard to believe you found anybody.”

“Gio said the same thing! Honestly, ye of little faith. You guys suck.”

“It’s not even that, it’s just been years since you found anybody. You found almost all of us within, what, a week of each other? Except for Rowdy? Seems unlikely that you’d find anyone else after all this time. That’s not how things usually work.”

“That’s a fair point,” Dave chimes in, curling his arm around Connor’s back, “If I’m bein’ entirely honest, I didn’t think we’d find nobody, either.”

Connor pouts at Dave’s words but says nothing, and his silence speaks for itself, piquing your interest in the process. It seems really strange that they found everybody else in the span of a week. Why are you any different?

Why did you wake up, and not somebody else?

Perhaps they would have been better off if it wasn’t you who woke up. Perhaps another could serve a better purpose, could take better care of the saviors. Alas, you will never know, and believe me when I tell you it is better that way. It is what it is.

Quite arrogant of you to ignore that Harley and Captain woke up when you did. They may have a vital role to play in due time, although you find yourself questioning Captain’s ability to service anyone but themself and maybe Dave.

Suddenly, in the ensuing silence, a realization hits you, “Where’s Buck?”

“He’s not here already? Lazy bastard,” Jian rolls their eyes, already halfway up the hill. They don’t say anything else and they disappear, ostensibly to put their stuff away, although you can’t be sure. You guess you shouldn’t be concerned if they aren’t.

You turn to Dave, who shrugs at you, and Connor, who wiggles his eyebrows at you. You’re not sure why he does that but his face contorts hilariously when he does it so you’re happy. He’s a goofy man and you love him for it.

A few minutes pass while Connor makes faces at you like you’re an infant and you giggle, also like you’re an infant. Buck does eventually make an appearance, carrying a large garbage bag over one shoulder and his spears in the opposite fist.

He’s still shirtless and your mouth goes dry.

“And there’s the man of the hour!” Connor greets him only somewhat sarcastically, “The big game hunter himself!” Buck’s knees don’t buckle under Connor’s obviously forceful slap on the back, and it makes him that much sexier to you. You got it bad, sister, and I can’t do anything for you.

Buck shrugs almost too modestly, “It’s whatever. Pretty big kill, so I won’t have to go out for a while. I’m gonna take it to the lean-to.”

“I, uh—” You start, surprising even yourself, “Uh… I do the cooking now. So I can, uh, take that from you. Go ahead and rest or… something.” You blush darker and darker with every word that leaves your mouth. Why do you do these things to yourself, you’re so fucking embarrassing.

Connor is visibly shaking from restrained laughter and you suddenly want to be swallowed up by the earth. Buck smiles softly at you and you suddenly want to reemerge from the depths. “Awesome, thanks. Flash, right?” He speaks so sweetly it makes you a bit nauseas.

“Yeah, I’m Flash! That’s me! Just let me just go right ahead and grab this so you can go on and settle in,” You chatter, reaching forward to nab the garbage bag and brushing Buck’s fingers in the process. You blush darker but do not falter.

Dave and Connor seem impressed by your coordination, watching you with two pairs of much too mischievous eyes. You endeavor to never speak to them ever again, lest they make fun of you. Good luck with that.

Buck nods at you and heads up the hill, shoving his hands in the pockets of his camouflage cargo shorts as he walks. You feel like the fact that he wears camo cargos should immediately make him unattractive to you but, alas, it doesn’t work that way.

You spend the rest of the day steadily ignoring both your feelings and your saviors with the help of the deer carcass. It takes time to butcher and preserve, and you relish the opportunity to do some hard, distracting work.

Venison is on the menu for dinner, of course, and everything you don’t use gets smoked or dried. Sana and Connor help you out once the latter promises to button his lip.

He doesn’t entirely keep his promise, but his jabs are veiled and well-intentioned enough that you let it slide. The two of you bathe at the same time, and he offers to was your back as a form of silent apology.

For an hour or so after dinner, camp is full of laughter as Gio and Connor argue loudly about whether or not it’s okay to give a river a person name. The debate lasts longer than you expected, and eventually ends when Dave stands, announces that the east river will now be called ‘Pickles’, and then whirls off to bed.

“Damn, he outdid us,” Gio pouts, crossing his arms and glaring at Dave’s retreating back.

Connor shakes his head in awe, “Shit, I didn’t even think of using a cat name. He really won that one, that’s why he’s the best.”

You brush your teeth and climb into your lime green sleeping bag and wonder if anyone will really start calling the river ‘Pickles’.

oOo

You wake up tired but that’s nothing new. Body heavy, brain sluggish, you blink in the morning light seeping into your tent. Your eyes are dry so you rub at them with the heels of your hands. You manage to sit up, but you’re not sure how you did it. Bird calls rattle your rib cage. No sounds but the soliloquy of fauna reach your ears.

That’s strange.

Where are the others? Camp was lively just last night.

You emerge from your lair to meet a seemingly abandoned camp, which deeply unsettles you. You swallow a lump in your throat.

Stumbling down to the firepit in a haze, you find a half-full coffee percolator and an honest-to-G-d handwritten note.

Flash,

Sorry to leave you like that, sleeping beauty, but Harley, Gio, and Cap were restless as all hell this morning. Got me up at the ass crack of dawn because they were bored. There’s only so much bitching that I, as a human being with ears, can take, so we had to do something. Dave and I took them exploring around camp, should be back by lunch. I made you some coffee, so you’re not allowed to get mad.

The troublesome trio tagged along with us, too, so don’t be looking for them. I really don’t get why they always hang out together if all they do is fight. Seems weird, doesn’t it?

Oh yeah, if Sana isn’t around when you read this, she’s just off on one of her little field trips. Not sure how long she’ll be gone but she always comes back.

See ya!

-Connor

Connor’s messy scrawl is barely legible but you eventually decode the message and sigh to yourself. He did make some damn good coffee, so you can’t find it in yourself to get mad at him, the clever bastard. He knows you too well.

Cap, though? That’s a different story.

You trod over to the unusually flat log, mug of tasty coffee in hand, annoyed by the stillness. It just feels wrong for camp to be so quiet. Every moment of nothingness reminds you how lonely you are, how utterly alone you are in this world. Without your campmates, you have nothing at all. What if they never come back? What reason would you have for existing then?

That frightens you, to have nothing beyond the benevolence of mortals. They will all die one day. What then?

Honestly, it’s a bit presumptuous to assume you’ll outlive them. You know what they say about hubris.

You continue to allow your mind to wander freely in the silence. There is not much else for you to partake in. Where is Sana? Where does she disappear to?

What does she do, alone in the forest?

Maybe you’ll ask her one day.

You wonder to do with yourself, all own your own with naught but the trees and ferns for company. There’s no one to cook for and no one to talk to, and those are really the only two things you can do these days. Even reading’s off the table because you finished your Nixon book and don’t know where Dave keeps the books, and you’d rather not go snooping around.

Eventually, you decide to try to make a hat using old scraps of fabric you find in the tupperwares of wonder.

Digging through the bins, you uncover all sorts of fabrics, mostly torn pillow cases and the like. You gather all the hat-like cloth you can get your hands on.

You also find a sewing kit and scissors in the tubs, which seems mighty convenient, but you won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Sitting yourself down at the firepit, you endeavor to make Dave a new, even tackier bucket hat as a thank you for all he’s done for you. It’s not nearly enough, but at least it’s a start.

As it turns out, sewing is much harder than you’d anticipated. You keep poking yourself with the needle, the hat is falling apart at the seams, and it looks so ugly. Sana makes it look so damn easy! This shit is not easy—her mends look machine done and now it’s even more impressive than it was before.

It’s past lunch and you still have nothing more than an ugly pile of scraps.

“No, Argo, because we have to perceive the fourth dimension. We would experience its shadow, like how 3D objects are perceived in the second dimension. Like, if you have a cube, it looks like a square in the second dimension. Therefore, logically, we would have to perceive the three-dimensional shadow of the fourth dimension. Which is why I say it’s time! We perceive time linearly! It all makes perfect sense,” A mysterious voice chatters loftily in the soft breeze.

You look up from your project, startled by not only the sudden sound but also the topic of conversation.

It continues with a huff, “You’re not thinking about it the right way. Think about the transition from the first dimension to the second—the jump from a single point in space to a shape on a plane. It’s not necessarily a logical progression. The fourth dimension being time makes sense because we can’t manipulate it the way we can with 3D objects.”

The voice is seemingly conversing with itself, because you don’t hear any replies. It’s unsettling.

“If the fourth dimension is spatial, then what aspect of it do we perceive? What’s it’s shadow?”

Silence.

“The sky?! Now you’re just fucking with me.”

Laughter.

“Jerk!”

You set down your sewing project and rise to your feet, nervousness spiking as the voice approaches. The others are still nowhere to be found, so you are alone, at the mercy of whoever the hell is talking to themself about the fourth dimension and calling themself a jerk.

The stranger in question comes into view, and as it turns out, there are indeed two distinct people instead of just one crazy one. That’s a load off your mind.

Of the two strangers, it immediately becomes obvious which one was doing all the talking, arms flapping in a way that you suppose can be called gesturing. They’re short and skinny and pink in the cheeks, rolling large eyes in a rather condescending manner, “This isn’t the dark ages, we know that there are planets and galaxies beyond ours. I know you’re just bein’ a dick, but c’mon, man, work with me here. I’m just tryna have a good old fashioned academic conversation with you, you asshole! Y’know, intellectual sustenance and all that.”

Their ‘conversation’ partner is tall and dark skinned and quiet. They say nothing, but jerk their head in your direction, locking dark eyes with your wide ones.

“Holy shit!” The shorter one whistles, shaking their head of chestnut curls, “Dave really did it, huh?”

They approach you and you swallow. Intense eyes scan your face, your clothes, the camp, and the abandoned hat in your hands. The silence grows tense when the taller one draws closer as well, observing you from a distance that feels insurmountable.

The shorter one clears their throat and tilts their head, and your heart skips a beat. “Hey,” They greet you anticlimactically, “I’m Rowdy, and this here is Argo. Welcome to Fort Kickass.”

Of all the things you want to say, a flabbergasted “Fort Kickass?” is all you can manage. So this is the infamous Rowdy, breaker of compasses and all around goofball extraordinaire. The cognitive dissonance between your preconceived notion of him and the reality makes you dizzy.

Rowdy grins and the ice breaks, “Dave didn’t tell you the name of our camp? He doesn’t like it much but Connor does, and Dave sure as hell can’t say no to Con.”

“They never said anything about a name, but that sounds about right,” You laugh, easing into the conversation like the professional small-talker you are, “I’m Flash. They found me with two others, though I’m not really sure where everyone went.”

“Those idiots love to run off,” Rowdy jabs good-naturedly, waving a lofty hand. Argo grunts in what you assume is agreement, but you can’t be sure. “But, never mind them, what’s your story, Flash?”

You blush at the single-minded attention, “Me? I don’t really have a story, to be honest. I just cook. I’m trying to learn how to make a hat but it’s not going so—”

“COOK?!” Rowdy cuts you off a little belatedly, “We finally have a cook?! Thank god, I was almost positibe Connor was trying to slowly kill us with that shitty cooking of his.”

You don’t think he’s giving Connor enough credit but in the interest of not pissing off someone you just met, you just laugh awkwardly and rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, we think I was a chef before… well this.” You gesture vaguely to the camp and the trees and the mountain. Rowdy nods sagely, beyond his years in a manner you can’t articulate.

“A practical skill in the face of nuclear annihilation, don’t ya think?”

You’d never thought of it that way, but yeah. Huh. Imagine if you’d studied graphic design instead.

“Rowdy!” A deep voice echoes across camp, and Rowdy’s eyes light up with something indescribable as he scans the surrounding area in search of a very special man. When the two make eye contact, Connor and the others returning from the trees, both their faces split into enormous grins.

The shorter man runs to Connor and tackles him with a hug, “Con! Did you miss me?”

“Miss you?” Connor snorts affectionately, gathering Rowdy into a headlock, “Are you kidding me?” He vigorously noogies Rowdy’s shaggy head. “’Course I did! What is a man without his little idiot son?”

Dave approaches you and slings a casual arm around your shoulder, chuckling at his partner.

“Two peas in a pod, huh?” He sighs affectionately. You’re inclined to agree, those two are made for each other.

“Papi, are you making fun of me over there? Huh? You makin’ me look bad in front of the new guys, bastard?” Rowdy calls from where he’s still trapped in Connor’s arms, grinning a gap-toothed grin that rivals Con’s in brightness.

Shaking his head, Dave chuckles, “You don’t need me for that! You’re doin’ a damn good job yourself.” You guffaw despite yourself and Dave looks inordinately pleased about it.

Connor laughs so hard he snorts and almost chokes the spluttering Rowdy still trapped in a headlock, which makes you lose it even more. Man, if you thought Electra was the most exciting person at camp you were dead wrong, pal.

In an obvious ploy to distract Rowdy from his near-fatal headlock, Connor asks about his excursion with Argo. Rowdy preens from the attention, seemingly ignorant to Connor’s not-so-subtle manipulation, babbling excitedly about what he and Argo found on their little adventure.

Argo wanders off towards the tents as he shrugs his backpack off his shoulder. Neither of the chattering men notice his departure.

You do, however, and you surprise yourself by boldly following after him. You’re obscenely curious about him, and there’s no way you’re getting any information out of Rowdy while he’s still catching up with Connor. So, you take matters into your own hands, betraying your shy nature for once.

What good will shyness do you, here at the end? Is it not better to at least try to befriend the only people you’ll ever know?

Argo dumps his backpack outside the hut closest to Dave and Connor’s tent before turning to face you. You freeze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely peers at you like you’re a wild animal, like you’ll bolt if he so much as breathes too loudly.

That analysis may not be entirely inaccurate.

Taking a nerve-soothing breath, you say, “Hi. I’m Flash.”

He nods. “Argo.”

“It’s, uh… nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“I didn’t get to talk to you before, so I figured…”

He nods again.

“So, uh… What do you do around here?”

He pats his hut, then the hut next to it.

“Huh? The huts?” You take a guess, “…Did you build them?”

He nods once more.

“Out of what?”

“Wood.”

“Oh, yeah, duh. They’re, uh, very nice. Good job.”

“Three weeks.”

“What?”

“Your huts. It takes three weeks.”

You smile at him, “Take all time you need. I don’t mind sleeping in the tent! Makes me feel like I’m camping, yknow?”

“You’ll mind in winter.”

“Does it get cold here?” You scrunch up your nose when a thought suddenly comes to you, “Will it snow?!”

He grunts an affirmative. You gasp a bit overdramatically, but I’ll cut you some slack this one time. Snow! You don’t think you’ve ever seen it, because you can only picture it. Usually, even if you can’t remember the specifics, you at least remember the sensations of what you’ve experienced before the apocalypse.

There is nothing but the image of snow in your head.

You try again and fail again to get him to engage with you, so you cut your losses and start to head back down the hill. From what you heard of his and Rowdy’s conversation, Argo definitely talks and has a sense of humor. Why won’t he talk to you?

Did you do something wrong? Does he hate you?

Maybe you shouldn’t have followed him. Maybe shyness does some good, saving you from embarrassment and ridicule such as this.

Instead of joining the others back at the firepit, you decide to duck into your tent. Argo’s apathy burns like a gunshot, and you’d rather hide away to lick your wounds than go back to the others, propriety be damned. After all, look at all the good that being social’s done you.

You collapse face down on your lime green sleeping bag, intent on taking a bitterness nap or perhaps suffocating in your sleep. The sounds of laughter float up from the pit and you bury your face farther into the polyester. You try to hold them back but the tears come nonetheless, saline beading on the surface of your bag and sliding down your neck.

Why does he hate you? You’re not that bad, are you?

Maybe you are. Maybe you deserve this. You sob brokenly, curling in on yourself as your body shudders.