when — july 2041
where — residence inn hotel.
who — @kiyanamurphy
There’s a whisper. There are always whispers, but this one is quite something: some soldier Zepp trades with after dinner tells him about the pair of new arrivals having set up shop in the hotel with the surname Murphy. Funny, she thinks. Coincidence, propably. Worth checking out, if only to point to himself and the new arrivals and be like funny, don’t you think? Besides, Zepp doesn’t often think highly of themselves, but they do think that they’re quite the welcome committee. Better than most of these scary fucks, anyway.
Alright, so maybe there’s a small part of them that dares to hope. For one of their aunts, maybe. Some distant relative. But not this: not this face, drawn by age, by the more than two decades that had separated them. Not this face, that he has struggled to remember for years. Zepp reaches the door opening of the hotel room and he freezes, hand held up in the air in mid-greeting as she turns.Â
Do they recognise her? Zepp stares at his mother and wonders if this is an apparition, for a moment, if he’s smoked a bit too much during his morning shift. Their hand is still in the air. “Mom?” The last time they spoke, their voice must have been at least two octaves higher: prepubescent Zepp was a different person, a dead person, a ghost. They’re not entirely sure if they’re ready to revive that child, if they’re ready to unearth all the guilt that’s lived in his stomach. The shame, really, of once having preferred their father. He clears his throat. “Fuck. Shit. Wow, it’s, right. It’s Zepp.”
Kiyana bent over her duffel bag, carefully unpacking the belongings she and her daughter had managed to bring with them. It wasn’t much. A couple outfits each, guns and bullets, radios, Kiyana’s guitar. Before the outbreak, Kiyana would’ve never been able to imagine traveling so light. These days, though, they didn’t have much choice. She did hope they’d be able to get their hands on some more clothes, at least.
Maybe someone in this QZ — no, not a QZ, their leader had made that much very clear — this settlement would be willing to trade. She’d left the door of her hotel room open, hoping that it might be inviting to her neighbors. She hadn’t met anyone yet, though. She was sure there were friendly people around, but she had yet to find them.
But apparently she didn’t have to wait much longer. Just as she straightened up with a t-shirt in her hands, she spotted a figure in her doorway. She lowered the t-shirt and smiled at them. “Oh, hi!” Her smile faded as she stepped closer to get a good look at him. He looked familiar. He looked —
He looked like Tim. The eyes, the nose...but he was younger than Tim would be, of course. And the closer she looked, the less he really looked like him. His face was different, and he didn’t hold himself like Tim. No, he looked like someone else.
With a start, she realized she was staring. And oddly enough, he was staring, too. Her lips parted to ask if he was okay, if he was lost, but he stole the air from her lungs before she could.
Mom? She must have heard him wrong. Kiyana wasn’t a skeptical person. She hoped against all hope that she would find her son, every day since they’d been separated. But it had been over 11,000 days. With her son right in front of her, Kiyana didn’t want to let herself believe.
And then he said his name. The sound that came out of her mouth was more squeak than speech. “Zepp?!”Â
She rushed to close the distance between them, had to reach up to clutch his face between trembling hands. He was so tall. At nine, the top of his head just reached her chin. Now, the stubble on his chin brushed against her fingers. Her eyes burned with tears. “Oh god. Oh my god.”
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