At the End - a post-apocalyptic novel (The Road to Extinction, Book 1) Read Free

“Did you see anything on your way
over?” I asked.
    “Not a thing,” Félix replied. “Maybe they
are only in the bigger cities. Seattle is only an hour away by
car.”
    “Then how come everyone is gone? No, I think
they’re here, somewhere . . .” My arm twitched, then my leg gave
out, sending my face to the carpet.
    “You okay?” he asked, twitching as well.
    “No . . .” I said. It was the end, happening
just like in Fury of War and Our Descent, the two games I played
most before the release of Death Squad. It was now. “What do we
do?” I lay there, motionless. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t
survive.
    They would get me . . .
    “Do you know anyone with a telescope? Maybe
we can look for ourselves, to see what’s out there.”
    “I remember Jacob Moletti had one,” I
replied.
    “He goes to U-Dub, doesn’t he?”
    “Yeah, he does, and from what I understand
it’s changed him drastically. All he does is drink now.” Or did.
Probably taken now, and it’s doubtful the aliens gave out free
cocktails.
    “Well, we should go take a look to see if it
is still there.”
    “Do you really want to know?” I asked. I
didn’t. I’d seen too many bug-eyed aliens on screen, at least
enough to discourage my curiosity to go and search for them.
    He slumped down next to me, hands twitching
as if attacked by an epileptic fit. Taciturnity became our mood.
What was there left to say? Goodbye? The time had long passed for
such sentiments, too many people taken unexpectedly.
    Time betrayed me, for the next time my eyes
crossed the kitchen clock, only twenty minutes had passed, but I
swear the sun should have been settling down for bed. Félix laughed
when he saw me staring at the clock, flustered.
    “You know it’s funny, all we’ve ever done is
play video games, and now when it comes to it, all that training
means nothing,” he said, still laughing.
    I turned to him. “Training?” I said. His
meaning was lost upon me.
    “Don’t you think we’ve been trained for
this? The military does the same thing for combat simulations,” he
said. His grin widened.
    “Except they have people screaming at them,
they have people instructing them, they have other tests besides
combat games,” I countered.
    “True . . . but still . . .” He wanted to
say something more, but stopped himself.
    “You really think we should go to Jacob’s?”
I said, not entirely excited for his answer.
    “His father works for NASA, doesn’t he?
That’s why his parents split?”
    “From what I understand, yeah. You think his
father tells him secrets . . . stuff like the existence of
aliens?”
    Félix propped himself up using the window
ledge. “All I know, bromigo, is that I can’t watch cartoons waiting
to die . . . waiting to be taken.” He hastened to the kitchen,
where he began to empty the knife block. He was always using the
Spanglish word bromigo, something passed on by his cousins in San
Diego. I had tried it out once, but it didn’t roll off my tongue so
well. I had always performed poorly in Spanish class.
    “What are you doing?” I asked. Uncertain as
to what he intended to do out there, on the streets that promised
our demise.
    “What’s the first thing you learn before
playing Our Descent online?” he asked, frantically scouring through
drawers. He placed older knives next to his assembled weaponry.
    The answer came easily, probably a saying
I’d repeated a million times since I had heard it years ago. “The
well armed take advantage, whether physical or intellectual, all
are assets to the soldier,” I said without fault. For some odd
reason the saying sparked a feeling of courage in me. It ignited a
strange passion that I’d never comprehended.
    “Then let us be well armed,” he said,
raising his eyes from the collection of blades to meet mine, now
ablaze with the will to fight. I placed the thought of surrender in
the shadows of my mind.
    I jumped to my feet, invigorated. “My dad’s
tools,” I