Chapter 1 Survival

Hey,

Creating in a time of crisis is weird, but sometimes it’s all you’ve got. I truly hope you like what I’ve put together here.

Check out the contributors’ social media, websites, books, art, etc! They’re a talented bunch of people you’d be lucky to have in your gang. Sucks for you though, they’re already in mine 👊💥

Til the next chapter,

Kris

by Ericka Rivera Figueroa

It was raining today.

It was raining today, and nobody believed me.

The drops fell seamlessly, like tears of silver.

I stood in awe, wondering where it would be coming from, because even though it was clear it

was coming from the sky, it had never rained before.

It rained.

Water from the sky, how curious. It was a thing of myth!

Suddenly, I felt exposed. Should I be out here? Would I get hurt? Was it safe to be touched by

water from the sky?

The drops fell on my face and I flinched.

It was cool to the touch.

I felt…elated…invigorated…whole?

Soon, I was drenched. And the silver fell over my face and down to my knees.

Tears of silver. But whose?

I touched my face, cool turned hot.

I didn’t know whose tears they were, mine or the sky’s.

It rained today.

But nobody believed me.

by Tashay González-Ortiz

The man who collects faces is roaming the streets and I’ve started to think that it might be a mercy. The days no longer matter. Sunlight is a weakening memory, belonging to a time that slips further and further away. I’ve seen wrinkled and faded images of a world that turned. Daylight shifted and the sky was a color that no longer exists.

I wonder where the dogs went. I was very young when they vanished and memories from that age are weak. There is nothing but stillness and the sounds of a dead and dying world.

My rations are at an all-time low and I don’t think I can stay here much longer. The question remains, do I chance a run on the outside or do I welcome the end as an inevitable certainty?

The dust picks up outside signaling another storm. Visibility will be lessened, but that will mean more coverage, which could mean a chance at another day or week. My water is also dangerously low. How long can a person survive without it again? I forget.

*

I have to move. I pick up the few belongings I have and grab a rag. The dust tastes like ash and burns, so I cover my mouth and ears. I wipe at my goggles and ready myself for the force of the storm.

After what feels like forever, I find a building with a make-shift door weak enough to break down. Inside everything is in shambles. The traces of life are covered in dust. Who knows the last time someone was here or where they ended up.

I walk around with my weapon held at the ready. If I encounter something that shoots, I’m dead. Anything else I can fight, I hope. There’s little in the way of food, but I do find some old cans at the very top of a shelving unit. Likely stored out of sight to keep rations lasting longer. I put them in my pack and keep searching. The storm starts to die down and I debate my next move.

A sound interrupts me. I pick up my weapon and wait. I’d heard stories before it all went quiet about the people who mutated. Monsters in the flesh of man. I don’t know what I will do if one of them is here.

The sound comes closer. I cannot pinpoint what or where it is, but I can tell it’s moving toward me. I clench my jaw, waiting.

Something falls over and I spin to defend myself. I see it walking slowly, tentatively getting closer. Memories come back to me and I stifle the sounds I want to make, because they might alert something else of my presence.

Of our presence.

I put my weapon down and reach out my hand. It comes towards me, blinking, and I try even harder not to cry when it carefully sniffs my hand and its tail begins to wag. He lies down on the floor next to me and I squat to place a hand on its head. It has a collar. Its name is Samson.

*

I walk down the road with my pack a little heavier than before, looking to the horizon. The small signs of life point east, footprints that weren’t there when I first sought. I feel that I must make the choice to find where they lead, for better or worse.

I don’t know what else may happen, but I know that I won’t be alone.

by Janice Rivera

Walking endlessly to find an escape

of the hordes of sinews and sweat,

the Carnival of Life enraptures all.

As time chases in perpetual night,

peripheral phantoms become uncanny;

truths we learn to accept.

Rides, lights, and games may attract the tots,

yet the dissonant melodies begin to disturb,

until the ripened shift from guest to carney.

With solemn faces and hunched backs,

the Carnival’s custodians may be awarded freedom,

one day.

Trudging along with tacit uniformity,

we create addicts of diversion and delight;

incarcerating minds in an infinite cycle.

Who is the ringleader? Us.

por Amanda R. Medina

En esas estoy

Día a día

En el ir y venir

Running through the motions

Ansiosa por llegar a mi hogar

Ver a la familia

Abrazar a mis amistades

y tomarme el café de abuela senta en el sofa

Sobreviviendo

Es lo que se puede hacer

así es la vida lejos de casa

estas con un pie aquí y el otro en la playa

pero con todo y eso estoy agradecida

muchos ni pueden decir que están

sobreviviendo

by Andrea B. Arango

Bx thought bx would be scared.

And maybe in the old world bx would have.

At the very least, they would have locked bx up.

At the very most, bx would be dead.

But it’s not the old world.

It’s the in-between.

And so when bx starts growing fur,

bx is confused, but not scared.

Because bodies are bodies.

Survival is insufficient.

And now bx leads a colony

with all the bxs and fxs and wxs

who know nature is truth.

Sure, there are cures in the works.

There are “dampeners”.

Nobody likes the in-between.

Nobody wants girl-bears and girl-wolves and girl-foxes

when it all starts anew.

And so bx waits.

Because bx knows.

The old world always becomes the new world.

The new becomes the old.

They’ll come for bx.

But by then, bx will be gone.

by Yadira Comulada

Author’s Note: Bottom part of a page, ripped at the top and on one side, all of the informational text is handwritten.

From Dr. Gwendolyn’s Book of Wasteland Creatures

Bestiary Entry #22

Given Name: Three-Eyed Feline or Cat

Size: Small to Medium

Danger Level 1-5: 3, 5 When Provoked

Location Found: Ruins of the Old City

Description & Notes: Vary in color and size, but they all share the common trait of having three eyes on their face, making the shape of a pyramid. Probable descendants of domesticated cats pre-radiation. Often found atop of buildings or trees, keeping a watchful eye. One would think it is part of their ancestral habits, but after a week of surveillance, I have found that they are hunting their next prey. They travel in packs of three, never more and never less. Animals (not excluding humans) that come across these creatures tend to be safe as long as they do not make eye contact with these animals, but those that get too close or attempt to touch or attack tend to not survive. Their bite appears to leave the prey paralized; I can only assume the effects of the radiation have made them somewhat venomous. How long the effects last is unknown due to the fact that I have been unable to follow the creatures after they drag (surprising strength?) their prey away into the shadows.

by Sara Pérez

The sky burned.

Silence had fallen after months of chaos,

only the wind remained. It whistled

the stories of a world no longer breathing.

The sky burned, and then

She crawled out of the water.

Her breath mingled with the wind,

bringing back the stench of despair.

The sky kept burning,

as pieces of a wounded world fell

down to the scorched earth.

The blood on the sand clung to Her

as She crawled away from the horror

and wept.

by Carrington Kernodle

a day

A day of

relentless raining

cast-iron cooking

hums harmonizing

sofa squishing

flames flickering

bashful blinking

mind mingling

latte lulling

and

soul sharing

with him,

is a day well spent.

**************

my place

Loneliness festers,

just oozing all over.

But suffocate those ears to hear

a place.

Yes, that place.

Where skin resembles the lake.

Where a moon so bent,

blue and black hues remain lit.

Soften the moss with thy flesh.

Let the water whisper on my chest.

Take a deep breath

and go deaf.

This is my place,

there is a lot to embrace.