Dirty sunlight filtered through the torn curtain. He opened his eyes and the world was bleary. Even when things focused, the world was still bleary. Test tubes that were the size of men and filled with slick green liquid remained in the forefront of his mind despite the chill of concrete at his feet. The past week had been filled with night hauntings. The sinister crib he had been swaddled in woke him night after night.
It was probably hunger pains that turned his mind around, he told himself. Or the rot gut spirits that they used to ward off the chill. It could be anything, he rationalized. Anything but memories.
After pulling on his boots, Oli was dressed. The nuclear winter wonderland kept him sleeping in his clothes. The sheen on sweat, though, that he broke into every night kept him wrapped in the nightmares until noon. Then it was sweat from work. Not anxiety. Couldn't still be the anxiety.
Anna-Marie sat across from Erik on the main room on the house. They spoke in low tones as Remy ran his thumb along the edge of a throwing knife. He was the only one not to look up when Oli entered. He was also the only one to speak. "Bon matin, Olivier."
"Bon matin, Papa." Oli stole a glance at his mother. Her sharp angular haircut hung limply at her chin, hid her eyes from him. "Mama. Erik." Embarrassment surged through him when the man they called leader looked at him with such pity, honed on the metal hand that fought to remain unclenched. "I'm going hunting with Elle." Exhaustion spoke then, not pettiness, "We'll bring the bulk to you, Erik. Don't worry."
Oli left quickly. His cheeks were flushed. His growling belly and dark ringed eyes were no reason to resent the refugees that Erik had taken in. It wasn't their fault they were weaker, that they ate the spoils of others. That there wasn't enough for the dwindling populations. That ideas and tempers were running thin.
"Prends bien soin," his father called out the door as he always did. And Oli promised he would try his best, as he always did. But staying safe these days was an attempt, not a promise he could make and be sure to keep.
The morning breeze licked at the damp back of his jacket. Oli swallowed a cold chill and reached out for the minds of Elle and Sasha. "Let's go." It was a little early, but their trips were taking longer and longer. "Heard there was some sacks of roots to be traded for down south." Down by the burnt out Markovski farm. The black market took to holding shop there as a small sign of rebellion. Oli dreaded that the structure would be razed to the ground completely next time. "And the Doc might have some work for us." The Doctor was the face of the operation, dolling out the tasks from his wheelchair and paying in trade and promised favors, The Witch and The Chemist were rarely seen anymore. And the children? Even memories of them were rare.
As Oli made his way across broken pieces of asphalt and discarded dreams, he was sure Elle and Sasha would realize the night was still clinging desperately to his shoulders. But he hoped they would take it as an invitation to shake it off. Take the day, make it their own.
