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

see: a slanted line with three lines pointing upward, like a
tilted E, colored black and red. I turned back at the engraved
marking on my door, my eyes flooded, no stopping the tears. I
wanted to run back inside, sit back down on the comfy couch and
watch cartoons, so that I could pretend that everything was fine.
Not a chance. The TV had died like everything else around.
Damn.
    I glanced at Félix; his face was the same.
We weren’t soldiers . . .
    I could not say for sure how long it took
us, but we made it to the Troll’s house, three houses up and across
the street. “His house is marked,” Félix noted in a tone full of
apprehension.
    “Yeah, but he could still be alive, after
all, we are . . .” I said. We spun around to meet each other’s
stares. Neither of us had thought about that. Our houses were
marked, yet we weren’t taken.
    “The foil?” we said in unison.
    “But that was just for fun. It doesn’t do
anything,” he said. Two years ago, we had put foil up above our
beds, for protection from aliens, of course. It started as a joke
at school, I scarcely remember why, and neither of us had bothered
to take it down since.
    “Maybe we should wrap ourselves in it,” I
suggested. “Just in case.”
    “Yeah, all right, I guess it couldn’t
hurt.”
    I nodded. My skin pimpled from a shiver, the
silence of the street was starting to eat at my already fragile
nerves. We confronted the mark on the door, then snuck inside, the
Troll’s properly lubed hinges produced no noise. In the kitchen, we
stocked up on more cutlery, as his were top notch, sharpened to
perfection. Conveniently, the Troll had three large boxes of foil
that we used to blanket our bodies.
    We crept down the stairs, but our furtive
steps seemed pointless, nothing jumped out of the dark at us.
    “Over here,” I said, heading towards an old
armoire covered by dust. The whole room matched, decaying and
dusty. I opened both of the doors to the furniture, where several
bows greeted me, including an ancient one without any technological
enhancements. Hunting blades hung on the inside of the doors, a few
of them the size of small swords.
    “No guns,” Félix observed.
    “Guess not.” I snatched one of the newer
bows, and a pair of goggles fell to the floor, a small dust cloud
puffed up upon the impact. I scooped up the pure black goggles that
looked like ski goggles. After I extracted my 3D contacts, I put
them over my eyes. I flipped the switch on the side and the room
lit up in black and white. “Wow, I can see everything.”
    “Infrared. There are lights on the side of
the goggles.” Félix pointed to a light, then grabbed his own
pair.
    “Slick.”
    “Expensive.”
    “Yeah, I bet,” I said, pulling back on the
bowstring. “Except for that.” I nodded at the ancient bow. “Don’t
know why he would keep that around.”
    “Probably worth a ton, bromigo. It looks
like an artifact.” He touched the heavy wood, careful not to knock
it over. Eventually he selected one, stowed a bundle of arrows,
along with half the hunting blades. The other half I took, placing
the deadliest looking one in a soft sheath that I wrapped around my
calf. The Troll had three quivers, one probably as old as the
ancient bow, the other two maybe a few years past their prime, but
they held together.
    I scanned the room for anything else viable
for combat, but came up empty. Pictures of the Troll and hunting
companions hung on the wall, displaying their acquisitions. I’d
never seen such a spitting image of the fantasy creature; the apt
nickname described the man in full detail.
    I turned back to Félix.
    “Ready?” Félix’s voice was as shaky as my
sweaty hands. I hoped I would never have to fire the bow; I would
never hit a target with such rebellious nerves. A sickness attacked
my stomach, climbing up my throat. I saw the ceiling above before
the goggles went flying from my head.
    Félix sprinkled cold water on my face as I
came to. “Hey,” I said