Daybreak Approaching | Ethan Park ’23

(The following passage is a small excerpt from Daybreak Approaching, a story about 16-year-old Kahlo, a survivor of the pandemic apocalypse. The government has transported all those who are immune to California, where bases are being set up. At the moment, Kahlo and his new friends are travelling to ACXEN-30, the base soon to be their home.)

We talked for a little while longer but eventually got bored and became silent, keeping to ourselves. I grabbed a pillow from my duffle and leaned it against the bench near the tail end of the truck, folding my arms. I looked out behind us at the desert as the mountains rolled by, dust spitting out behind the tires as the stars began to brighten in the sky. My eyelids felt heavy, and I started to drift off. A voice woke me up.

“Can I sit here?” I looked over and found Alaska standing there, clutching a pillow in one hand.

I nodded. “Sure, why not?”

She smiled and plopped down next to me, setting her pillow next to mine and slouching over. She looked slightly uncomfortable, and an idea came to my head.

“Hey… do you want to lean on each other?” I offered the words a little nervously, thumbing over my back. She looked up at me. “You looked a little uncomfortable.”

“You won’t mind?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Nah, you’re fine.”

Alaska smiled. “Sweet.”

We both sat up, situating ourselves so we could lean back-to-back. I chucked my pillow underneath the hard wooden benches, kicking up dust and sand that had snuck in from the opening in the back. Alaska did the same with her pillow, carelessly tossing it under the bench, making a muted thump as it hit the hard surface. I sniffled as the dust made its way into my throat.

Alaska sighed. “You ever watch Forrest Gump?” she asked.

“Yeah, the Vietnam scene?” I chuckled. “When Bubba tells Forrest to lean on him so they can sleep without getting too uncomfortable?”

Alaska nodded, leaning her head back. “That’s what you were thinking of when you asked to lean on me, wasn’t it?”

I held up my hand and rung an invisible bell. “Ding ding ding, you’re a winner.”

She chuckled, shaking her head.

I smiled, looking back out into the stars. “You remember that scene? The Vietnam scene?”

“You’re talking about the rain one? That’s one of the scenes I remember distinctly!” She emphasized the last word.

I turned my voice over to a nasally southern accent, recounting the lines. “And while we’s wuz in Vi-et-naem, it rained. An’ it rained fer’ a munth!” Alaska laughed as I continued. “An’ by d’end of dat week, we’d had seen all kinds’ a’ rain! There was lil’ bitty’ stingin’ rain, an’ big fat rain!” I smiled between lines, listening to Alaska’s laughter filling the empty space.

She snorted and punched me between giggles. “Kahlo, stop it!”

I kept going. “There wuz th’ rain that came atcha from th’ side,” I paused, smiling. “And rain that seemed t’ come from th’ ground up!” I completed my impression.

“That was good!” she said. “’Not gonna lie, it was pretty accurate.” Her head was turned to me again, surprised and impressed at the same time. I shook my head in disagreement and let out an embarrassed chuckle. “It was!” she protested.

“Eh, it needs some work.” I said smiling.

The hum of the engine occupied the space once more, and we were left rocking around in the bed of the truck. It was a cloudless night, the moon a crescent in the distance. Stars shone everywhere, and I studied them, looking for familiar constellations. Orion’s belt, Ursa Major, Scorpio, Pegasus. My favorites.

I stuck a hand in my pocket and sighed. “Forrest Gump.” I paused. “Bubba.” Silence lingered in the air, not the kind of silence that created tension, but just silence. The silence of thought. “Quite a way to die.” “Mm.” Silence again.

…

“What do you think they think of?” I turned to Alaska. “Before they die?”

“Who? The soldiers?”

“Yeah. What do you think they think about before they die?”

She shrugged. “Maybe the thing that means the most to them. For the guys with the wedding rings, maybe it’s their wife. For the guys with the

ruins of war, collage ethan park ’23

little crayon drawing in their back pocket, maybe it’s their kids. I dunno.” She paused. “For Bubba, it was home, that shrimping business he was always talking about. It was his family.”

I nodded. The silence came back again. The truck rolled on.

“Are you going to miss home?” I asked her.

She pursed her lips. “We’re going home,” she said.

14 silo, digital photography austin perkins ’21