A quick glance in the cabinet revealed a few homemade granola bars. My stomach growled. I grabbed four of them and headed back to the couch.
Khloe was lying down now, a hand over her face. I sat next to her.
“Here,” I said, “I found some granola.”
She was still shaking.
“I feel sick,” she said.
“You’re just cold,” I said. “Close your eyes.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Then look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open, slowly. They were red, and her face was so pale and blue. Even her lips were blue.
“Here,” I said. “Eat some of this.”
“I feel sick.”
“Lay down,” I whispered. “You’ll be alright.”
I lay with my front against her back. Every part of her was cold. I started eating, even if she couldn’t. I needed all the warmth I could get. I rubbed her back, her arms, her fingers, trying to create some blood flow.
I got up to get the container of ice. I returned to the couch and put it under with us so that it might melt. I kissed her face, her ears. They felt like ice on my lips. Finally, she stopped shivering, and I heard her even breaths. She was asleep.
I stayed like that, trying not to let myself fall asleep in case anything else happened.
I had fallen asleep sometime in the night, despite my commitment to staying up. Khloe was still asleep, her breaths slow. Too slow. Her heart beat so faintly.
“Khloe?”
I shook her gently. Her skin was clammy, burning up. I felt her forehead. She was on fire.
“No…” she rasped. “No…”
I got up, and knelt on the floor, looking into her face. Her eyes flickered open. They were just as red, and so dim I was not sure she even saw or understood I was there.
“Khloe?”
Her eyes had shut, and she opened them again. I opened the shutters, so that at least some of the reddish morning light could filter inside. Her skin was pale, dry, and hot. She fought for every breath.
“Khloe!”
Her eyes shot open. “What? Where am I? What is this?”
I reached for the water. Over half of it had melted during the night. Though my throat was parched and screamed to be satisfied, I held the water to Khloe’s lips
“Drink this, okay?”
Her lips moved weakly along the rim of the container. I tilted it, ever so slightly. The liquid entered her mouth. She tried to swallow, but coughed it up.
“It’s okay,” I said.
I grabbed her shoulders, softly pulling her up. I realized then just how frail she was, how the night and the cold had taken its toll on her body.
“Drink some water. Just one swallow. That’s it.”
She gave a weak nod. I held the container to her lips once more. This time, she drank several gulps.
“There you go,” I said.
Her eyes opened. “Is there any for you?”
“I already had mine,” I said. “Here. Eat something.”
I took some granola, breaking it up into small pieces. She grabbed one of the pieces from me with her right hand. I noticed a mark on her wrist.
Teeth marks.
I felt my heart stop. She looked at me, her eyes watering. The granola was forgotten, and there was only us, staring into each other’s eyes, understanding everything without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I cupped her face that burned against my hands like a sun. It was all she could do to keep her eyes open and focused on me. I felt my heart ripping apart.
“It happened in the apartment…”
My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t believe this was happening.
“I love you, Alex. I’m…sorry. I was hoping I would be okay. It was such a small thing.”
“You did nothing wrong,” I said, pulling her close. “I love you, Khloe.”
“I…don’t want you to think it’s your fault…”
“It’s not,” I said, the tears streaming down my face. “It’s not.”
I felt so empty now. The world was taking everything from me that mattered. Khloe was all I had left.
I just wondered when my turn would come.
“I won’t leave you,” I said. “I won’t.”
“You’ll have to,” she said. “Maybe…maybe you’ll find another home. Another Bunker.”
“You are my home.”
I stroked her hair, gave her more water as it melted. The trailer heated up as the day progressed. I tried to feed her, but she refused. From time to time, she would cough, and I would wipe whatever phlegm accumulated around her mouth. I would stroke her hair, once so lush and soft, now so dry and wispy. Her once beautiful skin was now sickly, lifeless, pale, translucent, revealing blackened veins. Her face grew gaunt as the day progressed.
Soon, she began to stink. But I did not remove myself from her side.
“I love you,” I said.
I told her the same thing again and again throughout the day. Her eyes were closed, and I feared they would never open again.
“I…” she said.
Her chest fell, her head slumped, and she leaned against the couch. Every muscle went slack, and some spirit lifted from her face, leaving behind only a body. Her eyes relaxed, and remained half-opened. I stared into her, seeing only a body that looked like Khloe that was not her.
I could not even cry. I stayed, holding her cold hand that grew ever colder which each passing minute. I wanted to be sure she was not really dead.
Her body, by some small, cruel mercy, did not attack me, and did not swell like the others. I didn’t know why, and didn’t really question it. Maybe since it was a small bite, it would have taken more time.
I kissed her face, so cold and frail. When my lips touched her skin, I thought it would disintegrate.
I went outside in a daze. I found a shed behind the trailer. Inside was a shovel.
I knew what came next. I lost myself in digging a grave not worthy of Khloe. Putting a body in the ground was foreign to me. Everyone in Bunker 108 was cremated.
As I emptied the hole, I emptied myself. Though it was cold, I was covered in sweat by the time I finished.
I laid her body in, and let my tears fall into the grave. I was completely bereft of all hope and life. Khloe had been that for me.
It was an hour before I could bring myself to cover her. I could only think of all the memories Khloe and I had shared.
And now, all hope was gone. She was gone, to be buried in the cold, hard earth, never to move, laugh, or breathe again.
When the last of the grave had been covered, I felt so guilty. I knew objectively that it wasn’t my fault. But that did not help. Everyone around me had died. While I longed for death myself, it never visited me.
I could have brought myself to take my own life, but I didn’t for one reason – Khloe would not have wanted it, and neither would my father.
I knew them well enough to know that.
By the next day, I couldn’t stay in the trailer any longer. I had to find somewhere else. Food and water were running low. It was late September, which meant it would be getting cold, soon – too cold to stay anywhere above ground.
I found a backpack in the trailer. I put the container of water inside, as well as the rest of the granola – twenty four bars total. I could eat three a day, which gave me rations for eight days. Eight days to find a new home, or more food – though my caloric intake would be pitiful. I also packed some blankets. I could not count on finding shelter, and needed enough to shield me from the nighttime cold.
Finally, on the morning of the third day after arriving at the trailer, I set off, kissing the loose earth atop Khloe’s grave. I marked it, with rocks arranged in the shape of a heart.