With a sigh, I left Mom to wake Reece. I would need his help, just like Mom would need mine. She would be okay. She would.

  She wouldn’t. My emotions were a tumult of turbulence, one way, then the other way.

  “Reece,” I whispered, stepping into his room. The mound at the foot of the bed made me smile. He slept in the oddest positions. “Chores, Reece.”

  Reece never complained once all morning. I instructed him to check all the traps on the south side of our area and then to trek back through the woods, where he knew there were some wild berry bushes. We kept in touch via an old, worn walkie-talkie set my dad had found. It worked for us, and we never strayed too far from the signal without saying so.

  “Check in every hour, on the hour,” I reminded him, my voice taking on that authoritative tone Mom used to use. “If you see anything strange - anything at all - you head straight back. No heroics.”

  I didn’t expect trouble, but this was not the time for cutting corners. This was the time to make sure we had enough to last winter. We had nothing near anywhere enough. Mom knew it; hence she went back to the city. Reece and I talked on the hour, every hour, just like normal.

  I checked all the traps on my side, cursing on the inside everything we’d done the last few weeks. Why didn’t she tell me? Nothing was worth suffering like that for. But then I thought about everything she’d taught me, everything extra. She’d almost doubled down on instruction. Now, now I knew why.

  She’d been preparing me. All those extra lessons on medicinal plants, the long talks about leadership and responsibility. It wasn’t just survival training anymore - it was a handover. She’d known she might not make it.

  I gathered as much as possible in the form of over-ripe autumn berries. This would be the last of them, or we might risk getting sick. They’d ferment or just have lots more bacteria inside them. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  Bird noises caught me, and I spun to find the darkest of fluttering wings. I didn’t notice what it was, not that it would have mattered. We were well past being able to see birds—even injured ones.

  I let out a sigh, my stomach growling louder. If we didn’t eat something, I feared sickness would soon take the both of us, no matter how much extra mom had shoved our way instead of eating herself. Excuses ran from—I ate earlier—I’m not feeling well too—I’ll finish what you don’t eat. I knew the truth. She was feeding us instead of herself and had been for quite a while. That worsened her current situation; with strength, her body would have fought any injury. Without…. I shook the dark thoughts away. No. I couldn’t—wouldn’t think that.

  Glancing to the berries in my hands, I found myself in the same predicament she had been. I couldn’t eat anything until I knew Reece had. Was this how it started for Mom? This instinct to put someone else before yourself, even when your own body was screaming for nourishment? I understood her choices better now, though I still couldn’t forgive her for hiding her injury.

  With a heavy heart, I returned to our cabin and put all the goodies I’d gotten into a bowl to wash. Nature was still a little dirty, and I could afford clean water to rinse, at least for now.

  By the time Reece made his way back, I had the berries and roots washed and created a warm, sweet stew. Mainly for the sugar content, I wanted to give my mom something. Which I let cool before I tried to spoon some into her.

  She wasn’t responding. Her fever was past the point of anything.

  I put the stew down, not wanting to waste it if she couldn’t get anything into her.

  I wiped her brow, sat and talked to her, then Reece walked in. He had a good bundle of food. I stood and went to him, “I’ll get these washed. You want to stay with mom?”

  “Mom?” he asked, then nodded.

  Reece went to her and curled up with her. I could hear him talking, but not his words.

  The job of cleaning berries and roots wasn’t hard, but I busied myself with it and eventually felt tugging on my arm. I looked into my brother’s eyes. He had wiped his face clean with the bathroom water we left their daily, and though it wasn’t perfect, I could see the frown on his face. “She’s really sick, right?”

  I put the fruit down, dried my hands, and squatted before him. “She’s very sick,” I whispered.

  “Is she going to die?”

  He asked exactly what I would have asked anyone else if they were here. “I don’t know,” I said. “But we have to try to look after her.”

  “What will we do if she dies?”

  The question hung between us, too heavy for his young shoulders but impossible to avoid. I couldn’t shield him from reality anymore. We were beyond that luxury.

  I glanced at the window. The sun had passed its peak. The night was already closing in. I needed to do all the other chores, light a fire.

  “If she dies,” I said and glanced back at him. “I think we need to find another place to live.”

  “We need to leave?”

  I pulled him to me and stroked his hair. It was getting long enough it needed cutting again. I’d do that before we left anywhere. I’d cut my own too, nothing like long hair to get caught in stupid places.

  “I don’t wanna leave,” he begged.

  “I don’t either, but we’ve eaten everything we can around here. Nothing grows, the lakes are dead, and there are no fish. Not since the—”

  “The monsters came,” he said.

  The dim glow of the waning sunlight illuminated his face as I squeezed him close, my fingers digging into his worn-out jacket. Wishing with all my might that they hadn’t come. “No, not since the monsters came.”

  Reece nuzzled back into me, his icy fingers brushing against mine. He hesitated for a moment, scanning the dark corners of the room before setting his gaze on the fireplace. “I’ll get some firewood in, then we can eat.” It was the way he said it. His voice held an age beyond his years. He was supposed to be ‘my little brother,’ but he wasn’t. The wooden floorboards creaked under his negligible weight, echoing the weight of the world we both carried.

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  In that moment, he wasn’t just my nine-year-old brother anymore. He was a survivor, just like me. The realization made my chest ache. We’d both been robbed of our childhoods, and there was no getting them back.

  As Reece ventured out, I reignited the fire, its soft orange flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. The warmth, though comforting, was fleeting. Fetching our blankets, they felt oddly cold and familiar.

  We would sleep with Mom tonight.

  We did, and we did for another two nights.

  Those nights passed, each more unsettling than the last. The comforting rise and fall of Mom’s chest grew sporadic, and the music of her breathing faded to haunting whispers.

  Tonight, though something felt different, the fire was warm, but no matter how much I put on it, I couldn’t feel it.

  “Please,” I begged the night once again. “I know you’re there.”

  Purple shimmers flitted around the room.

  Cerys Bellova, the voice said. It has been a while.

  “You’re here?” I sat upright. “You’re really here.”

  Shhh or you’ll wake your brother.

  The glow of the fire dimmed as the flitting of wings seemed to come my way.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She’s dying, the voice said. I would have come for her soon enough. But I heard your plea.

  “You can’t help her, can you?”

  There is only one way I can help anyone. The voice said.

  I stared at my mother’s face, memorizing every line and plane. The woman who’d fought so hard to keep us alive, to teach us, to protect us. She deserved so much better than this slow, painful end. I turned to look at my mom’s pale sunken face. The glow of the fire giving her an eerie odd tinge to her cheeks, nothing like a little blusher for her parting.

  “You can end her suffering though, right?”

  I can only end suffering, under someone else’s name.

  “My name?”

  Yes, the voice said.

  I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. This was my final act of love for her - to give her peace. To let her go. The weight of the decision settled on me like a physical burden. I leaned forward and kissed her one last time. “You won’t suffer any more, mom.”

  Then I pushed away, to let the voice do what was needed.

  In the name of Cerys Bellova, I aid you in your final moments, your crossing is pain-free of love and of hope. Your last life essences will help her grow and protect those who need it.

  I lay back down, my mind a mess. “Who are you?” I asked.

  There was a flittering of something in front of my face, but I couldn’t see anything.

  You know my name, deep down you know it.

  Reece’s soft snores contrasted with the silence on my other side.

  The voice had gone. Did I know his name?

  On the inside of me, yes, yes, I did.

  His name was—Death.

  The weight of that silence suffocated me, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. My tears brimmed, and I buried my head in the pillow to stifle the sobs. It took everything for me to stop crying, and eventually, I moved to her. I brushed my hand over her cold cheek, hoping against hope, but it was colder than I ever knew. Despair clenched at my heart, and I looked at Reece. He still slept, his soft snores the only sounds. “We’ll be okay,” I whispered to him. “I’m never leaving you.”

  For now, though, there was work to be done, and we had to move. Move before winter really set in.

  Reece was up and out before I could even say anything to him. It would be our last day here, and I would make sure that when he came back, we’d be packed and ready to go. I didn’t want to give him any time to think about it. Though I’m pretty sure they filled his dreams with the same things as mine were. Dreams, how I wished they really were dreams, not the nightmares that filled my mind every single time I closed my eyes.

  I was tired, so very tired. But tired wouldn’t survive in this world. Neither would anyone who couldn’t pick up the pace.

  “Keep moving or die.” That was Dad’s mantra during our hardest times. I’d thought it harsh then, but now I understood. Grief was a luxury we couldn’t afford, not when survival demanded everything we had.

  It took some of the morning for me to sort through our belongings. I cried more than I packed. We didn’t have much. Not at all. I chose our thickest clothes, those from the other cabins, their winter ski outer garments, and everything I could that would keep us warm. The largest rucksack was one dad had found—an adult one and he’d crammed all the heavy gear in it, and when I lifted it, it almost pulled me over, but I’d manage. We’d trained for this, ran with this, or almost this.

  I picked Mom’s bag up and filled it with the rest of the supplies I knew we needed, attached water bottles and other items to both, and stood back. I’d let Reece and I pack the rest together, a final parting for the both of us.

  “You’d be proud,” I said to Mom.

  “I was always proud.” The whisper of words she would have said, the soft tone of her laughter. I could still hear it all.

  My knees gave way once more, and I crawled to her, sobbing into the blanket I’d covered her with.

  The creak of the door made me turn. Reece had returned, the mud-streaked lower half of his pants and the heaviness in his eyes spoke a tale before he saw Mom.

  “Mom?” That one word hung in the air, a desperate plea.

  I stood straighter, shoulders back like Dad taught us. Someone had to be strong now. “She’s gone, Reece. She died during the night.” My voice came out steadier than I expected, though each word felt like glass in my throat.

  I swallowed hard, my voice strained. “She’s not with us anymore. She’s with Da.”

  The mention of Dad brought fresh tears to my eyes, but this time, I forced them away. I had to be strong for him, for us. “Will you help me?”

  He nodded. We had a solemn task ahead.

  Getting Mom’s body outside was hard, but together, we managed it.

  Together, we dug her hole next to the small shrine we’d made for our dad.

  The digging took hours, the wintery earth hard and unyielding, much like the world around us.

  We dug in silence, interrupted only by the occasional sniffle or sigh.

  I kept glancing his way, to see my brother’s face, stoic, cold. There was no light left for him, and somehow, somewhere, I had to find that. Life was life. Mom had always said that. “Don’t ever give up,” and we’d both promised her we wouldn’t. Ever.

  As we dug, I remembered how Dad had shown us the proper way to hold a shovel, to use our legs instead of our backs. How Mom insisted we always make a grave deep enough that animals couldn’t disturb it. Even now, their lessons guided us. Would always guide us.

  It took effort to climb out of the hole, the freshly dug grave, an abyss as deep as my soul. Dark and haunted.

  The effort to move Mom’s body outside after digging left us both panting and even more exhausted. I was covered in sweat, mud, and grime.

  Yet, it was Reece who found the words to speak, his voice carrying tales of yesteryears and stories of hope. With each story, we stitched together the fragments of our shattered world.

  “I loved all the stories you used to tell me,” he said. “The way the world worked the year I was born.”

  Tears spilled down my cheeks, and though I tried to stop them, to stem the sobs that followed. I couldn’t not.

  “I don’t want those stories to die,” Reece said. “Cerys and I will tell them to each other for as long as we live.”

  They were our legacy, our beacon of hope in a world overcast with shadows.

  He took my hand in his. “Say hi to Da for the both of us,” he said. “We will stay strong. We will look after each other. Wait for us.”

  Then he looked at me. His eyes had changed. There were no more tears there. Just a stern look. A look I don’t think I’d ever forget.

  We pushed and rolled her. Reece tried to show me he would be strong. But when Mom’s body thumped at the bottom, he broke down, and I broke with him.

  Tears streamed down my face. My mouth was dry, and my stomach was empty. Reece grabbed for me, and I clung to him.

  There was no one left now. No one but us. Every decision, every consequence - it all fell on my shoulders. I was barely seventeen, and Reece was only nine. How were we supposed to survive in this world? The weight of responsibility threatened to crush me.

  I gripped his face, stared deep into his sunken eyes, and witnessed and acknowledged his pain and my own. “When we leave. Promise me,” I said. “Promise me you’ll listen to my every word. You’ll never disobey me.”

  “I promise,” he’d said. “I won’t. I’ll listen.”

  “We’ll be brave together, right?” I didn’t let him go. “My every word. You promise?”