“BamBam?” he whispered, and someone sighed behind him; he didn’t know who it was; he didn’t care.  “BamBam!”  Louder this time.  “BAMBAM!”  Gummy grabbed his elbow, and he saw the dark and sympathetic look on his face, the same one that BamBam often used.

BamBam, BamBam, BamBam; that was the only thing, the only name, only person that was making rounds in his head.  He was supposed to be here, but he wasn’t, and all he left were smudges of blood in his place.

Goddammit BamBam.

“,” he half-whispered, half-whimpered, and the grip on his arm slackened, allowing for a gentle squeeze of something: reassurance?  Pity?  What was it?

“He might’ve been able to walk,” Gummy said quietly, and he knew what it was.  “We can sweep the area and if we don’t find him, we’ll continue to the compound.  Maybe he thought you weren’t gonna come back and left.”  It was blindness.

Gummy didn’t have the heart to open his eyes and see what had happened, not that Youngjae really wanted to either.  But at least he had the guts to accept it, at least he could fall asleep without that useless ember of hope in his gut keeping him awake.  At least he’d had to do it before, and at least the feeling of despair wasn’t as deep as he thought it might be.  At least BamBam hadn’t died without anyone knowing his story.  Youngjae knew it’d have pissed him off to know that no one would remember who he was and what he did and who he had become.

At least he wasn’t alone.

Butterfly, unlike his counterpart, understood, though; Youngjae could see it in his creasing forehead that he kept his eyes as wide open as his wings were going to be one day, unfurling to a span of unmeasurable length, unidentifiable breadth.  Butterfly might not have spread those wings yet, but he had long ago stapled his eyelids to his eyebrows, and Youngjae appreciated that.

“What’s that?” said Gummy, and three gazes were turned to something in the corner, coated with shadows that had at one point covered BamBam’s weak and shaking figure.  Youngjae bent down to pick it up, wiping his lashes free of tears and up the miserable feeling of regret that had laid an egg in his windpipe.

The scrap of crusty paper he held gingerly in his palm was littered with drops of blood and a fingerprint had smeared one of them across the side.  A single, unfinished line of clumsy writing stood out boldly, daring Youngjae to read it.  He dared.

Youngjae i want you to know I’m goi

-It trailed off into a jagged swipe of pen.  The boy reading it felt himself trail off into a jagged line of pensive thought, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that BamBam had sat and tried to write a note to him before he died.  Tried and failed.  He never finished, and that made Youngjae madder than even his death did.

BamBam deserved to feel conclusion, not an eternal ache to finish something unsolved.  If he was in Heaven, he was looking down, sorry for making him confused and saddened by the letter that was supposed to reassure him.  It sickened him, and he nearly crumpled the paper in his fist.

The only thing stopping him was the pair behind him looking worried and unsure as to what to do.  He heard Butterfly whisper something, and could see out of the corner of his eye the two boys, standing close enough for their arms to be touching.  Butterfly’s mouth was near Gummy’s ear, and he was saying something softly, quiet enough for only his companion to hear.

Gummy didn’t nod, but turned his head to face him, and Youngjae looked up at them just as something passed in between their gazes, just as unsaid messages traveled the wavelengths of their connection.  Youngjae wished he understood.

He wished so bad that he understood, wished so badly for someone to be there for him like that, that he felt tears coming up again, unsure of whether they were for BamBam or for himself or for the both of them.  He sniffled and pinched his nose shut, afraid of runny snot dripping down his face; he had to pull it together, he had to lead them to Raven’s Nest.

He had to be the light.

Jackson was quieter than normal.

Mark didn’t know what to think of it.

Jackson was showing that he could be a kind and respectful person.

Mark was finding that he liked it, that he liked how he might not have to continuously be the nice one.  He didn’t always wanna be that person, the person who would’ve been considered the designated driver.  The one that would make the girls coo and aww.

Maybe he wanted to be the one to make them swoon and go weak in the knees.

All metaphorically, mind you, there were no more girls to make swoon; at least none that he knew, none that would drop their rifles and knives to blush.

There wasn’t room for those kinds of girls anymore.

The world was done with those girls.

“Should we leave him alone?” Jackson mumbled in his ear, and Mark surveyed the room before deciding that the open space layout was enough for Youngjae to see trouble before it became trouble.  Mark looked back to his friend, who was standing slightly behind him in such a way that the front of Jackson’s left arm was against the back of his right arm.  He didn’t need to speak; he didn’t need to nod for them both to understand.

They began to shuffle out, leaving Youngjae to hold his nose with pressured, white fingers, in peace.  The crunch of gravel outside told Mark to pull out his knife, but Jackson had already taken care of the fleshie that was bumbling beyond the doors.

“Hey!” Youngjae called, startling him.  Mark spun around and noticed the lack of tears, made note of the strong willpower that this man had.  “You guys don’t know the way to Raven’s Nest; you need me to show you.”

“I know; we were just, giving you space,” he said.  Youngjae nodded and sniffed, looking down at the ground, not dejectedly, but as if in bottomless thought.  He stayed that way for a minute, and Mark couldn’t help but take note of the way he had such resolve in his face, that despite the cheerful way he’d spoken earlier, he was sound in his judgement, in his decisions.  At least, that’s what he was able to gather.

“I’m good,” Youngjae said suddenly, and Mark raised his eyebrows.  Jackson finally realized that he was the only one outside, and squeezed back in.

“Mark,” he urged, but Youngjae smiled.

“I’m good.”  He looked at the note in his hand, folded it over carefully, and slipped in into his pocket.  “I’m fine.  We should start for the compound.  It’s not close.”

Both of the boys stared at him, trying to decide what to do, trying to decipher whether he really was okay enough to move out.  Mark didn’t get the chance to have any input, though, because Jackson decided for him, taking the liberty to exit first after heaving the second backpack onto his free shoulder.

Youngjae, before Mark could follow, called out.  “Do you think I could have a knife, or something.  I have a gun, too, if you have the ammunition.”  Mark bit his lip and hesitantly handed over his second blade, and, knowing that Jackson’s pack held the bullets, ushered them back out into the sunlight.  They soon had between them two loaded guns, three knives on their persons, three sets of eyes and ears, and a machete.

Mark had thought that getting back on track would be better than hanging around the dusty sawmill all day; he was, evidently, wrong.

The slight wind wasn’t enough to cool them and sweat was beading on upper lips, water bottles were crackling, palms were wiping down thick mats of hair.  Pre-apocalypse, he would’ve commented to his friends, ‘just kill me,’ but not anymore; not when people had to that for real.

“Know what we need?” Youngjae started, and the other boys listened in carefully, trying to be as cooperative and kind as they could.  “We need a car.”  Apparently, Jackson couldn’t handle it.  Because he burst out in laughter.

“Shut up,” Mark hissed, but Youngjae was once again unfazed.

“It’s okay.  But I was being serious; it’s gonna take too long to get there at this rate.  We could end up dead or separated or we could run out of supplies.”  He shifted his backpack, the one that looked irrationally empty.  “I’ve got nothing besides my walkie-talkie and a flashlight.”

“That’s good, I guess.  We’ve only got three.”

“Yah; I’m also funny, and good-looking.  You're lucky you found me.”

“I think you’re the lucky one,” Jackson said, but Mark could see him stifle a grin, and he felt a chuckle rise in his throat as well.  He liked this guy.  But then again, he was hard not to like.  His attitude was positive and carefree, which caught attention in the apocalypse.  There was also his aloofness in the whole business of life that intrigued him.

BamBam was gone, or at the very least, missing, and yet he was fine.  There was a mellow melancholy in his visage, but nothing more.  And as emotional a person he seemed to be, Mark had trouble believing he could have both sides.  He was either heartless and a fake, or a hormonal ball of feelings that lied.

Somehow he was both.

How can he be so flexible? Jackson asked himself, and while glancing over to Youngjae, he saw Mark deep in thought.  About the same thing?  He didn’t know.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to know of a gas station along the way, would you?” Youngjae asked, and both of them grunted negatively.

“We don’t need it.”

“We will once we find a car to drive us.”

“The chances of finding a car that’ll work are slimmer than escaping a crowd,” Jackson continued.  “And I’m a little more worried about making sure we have enough food for a month long hike.  And,” he felt a slight bout of suspicion.  “How do we know you know where we’re going.”  Youngjae open his mouth to explain, but Jackson had already continued.  “How do you know?”  Mark was sending some kind of hand signal, but it made no sense.  “How come you’re the second person in a week that’s found us and mentioned this camp?”  It wasn’t his fault for being curious, for being careful.  The subject of his attention smiled kindly, and Jackson could see calm pity behind his eyes, in his relaxed eyebrows and mouth.

Why pity?

“I don’t know what to say to make you believe me that I know where we’re going, but I do.  You’re gonna have to trust me, difficult as that may seem, Butterfly.”  Jackson frowned in confusion, and his forehead creased.  “I know because I heard from someone else, like I’m guessing you heard,” Youngjae explained.

“But why now?  Why that group, and then you?  It’s been two years since I’ve seen or heard of any compounds, and now this?”

“You haven’t heard it?”

“What?” Mark interjected, and Jackson suspected he was afraid their argument would bring bigger problems than just Youngjae’s odd behavior.  “What do you mean?”

“The message, the radio message.”  He looked at both of them, and Jackson got the feeling he was supposed to know what it meant.  “The message Raven’s Nest sent out over one of the walkie-talkie lengths.  It stopped six days ago, but everyone in this area with a radio should’ve been able to hear it.  It said right in it that only this region was getting the frequency, and gave general directions as to how to get there.  They said they’re finally ready.”  Mark appeared even more in thought than his companion was at the moment.  “I’ve been trying to get there for a week.”

“So you’re saying that a safe, secure camp would invite just anyone to come on in.  That’s insane.  Who knows what kind of people would show up.”

“They need everyone,” Youngjae said, and Mark folded his arms.

“Why?”

“Because they’re ready.”  It was a vague and mystic thing to say, and they both felt the hairs on the back of their necks rise, gooseflesh rippling down their arms.  Jackson didn’t have the voice to ask what for.  “They’ve got the walls and they’ve got the resources and they’ve got the guns, and they’re ready.”

“For what?” Mark half-asked and half-breathed.  Youngjae shrugged, as if it were nothing, which the other two doubted.

“They’ve prepared for five years, and they’re finally ready to start it: the beginning of the new world.”

A new world...  Hmm...  Sounds interesting, doesn't it?  Will they all be a part of this new world?  You have to keep reading to find out!