The End Has Come

Yulianna, Yana thought, and turned away.

“There’s salted blubber up there,” the woman said. “And some pemmican.”

Yana was grateful for something plausible to do with her hands. “You inventoried the place in the dark?” Yana found the clothing, packed neatly in old crates along the back wall. She rummaged through it, finding warm wool trousers that would fit Yulianna — her Yulianna, who was thinner than this one, thinner still even than Yana was — base layers, technical fleece. She took what was warm and light.

Yana found sugar and flour, too, and took a five pound bag of each. She layered clothing on; she’d put her pack back on after she dealt with the window. Rooting around in the clothes, she located a second rucksack — army issue, old, the canvas worn through in small fraying squares — and began to pack a load for the other woman, too.

“I’ve been here two days,” the woman said. “Some light gets in in the daytime.” She had made it up to kneeling and was working one of her feet flat in front of her. Grabbing the ledge of a shelf, she stood.

Yana was ready to catch her, and she did stagger. But once she was up, she seemed pretty stable. She looked around. “It’s hard to see in here.”

“Sorry,” Yana said. “I’ve just got the one lume. Here.”

She handed the woman the bag. “Can you manage that?”

The woman hefted it, winced, and started to struggle into the straps before glancing at the window and deciding that she would wait until they were outside, as well. “I’d better. We’re taking a lot to travel light.”

“I have to bring food back,” Yana said. “For my sister.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, then gave Yana a nod after she’d thought about it for a while. “Good girl. What else are you looking for?”

“Trade goods,” Yana said. “Something valuable.” She was starting to feel the pressure of time. Surely somebody would come to check on the prisoner soon. Or worse, notice the lights moving around in here. But they couldn’t forage in the dark.

“Well.” The woman stepped aside with a magician’s flourish.

Yana stared. Behind where the woman had been standing was a shelf holding dozens of jars of clear liquid. Yana snatched one up — they were all mismatched, old jam jars and who knew what; the one in her hand had once held marmite, by the shape of it — and unscrewed the top. She didn’t get it all the way off when the smell hit her.

“Alcohol.”

The woman nodded, smiling tight.

“Grab as much as you carry,” Yana said.

Loaded up, the woman with her sister’s name stepped toward the door while Yana killed the lume. The woman was still limping slightly but didn’t complain, and seemed to be loosening up somewhat. She reached the door and tested the handle.

The door swung open with an oiled click.

Yana shrugged the pack up her arms. “Good. Just as glad not to do the window again.”

She stepped forward, but the woman stopped Yana five steps from the bottom of the stairs. “Careful,” she said. “There’s a monofilament a couple of centimeters over the wire you can see.”

A horrible shock of realization settled in Yana’s stomach. The expression must have registered even in the semi-dark. “Missed it on the way in?”

“I think I might be sick.”

“Don’t do that,” the woman said. “You look like you need that fish on the inside. How do you still have your feet?”

“I stepped really high.”

“Well then,” the wrong Yulianna said. “You know how high to step on the way out, don’t you?”

They were very careful climbing up the stairs. When they came to the top, Yana shifted her pack. It was heavy with wrapped glass jars, and she could already tell that the weight would be a problem. But she was fed now. She was strong. All she had to do was get it back to Yulianna.

Her Yulianna.

She looked over her shoulder at the woman.

“I’m going west along the coast,” she said.

“I have nowhere else to go,” the woman answered. “May I come with you?”

Yana paused. The woman was strong, capable. Despite getting caught, if she’d been diving for mussels as far out as the aquaculture cages, she really must be a powerful swimmer. Yana still didn’t think she could have done it herself without drowning. Or dying of hypothermia.

“We’ll decide that later,” Yana said, after only a brief hesitation. “For now, let’s put as many kilometers between this place and ourselves as our legs can manage.”

The woman threw a hateful glance over at the bunker, though all they could see from here was the back slope of it, like a rubble-strewn hill. The Zombie Light swept across them again.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

They couldn’t run in the dark with the heavy packs. And they certainly couldn’t down-climb the bluff. So they crept inland, staying low, though Yana’s body complained about the belly full of food she’d stuffed into it before leaving the shed, or cellar, or whatever it was. A palpable mist rolled in from the ocean as dawn approached. They blundered through it, picking their way, following the sound of the sea to stay oriented. They had to be wary of terrain, walking so nearly blind.