Outlived

John had great big waterproof boots on. He had no knowledge of this particular river, though, and really had no idea whether the boots would be big enough to keep his feet from getting wet. It was essential that he not get his feet wet. It was only twenty degrees, and he would surely lose his toes if they became frozen.
John also had no knowledge of building fires from cold, wet wood. The sticks would be soaked since everything was covered in snow and ice. And then how would he dry his feet? His toes would probably just snap off completely. He imagined it would sound like biting into a carrot.
Darma had lost her mind; he was sure of it now. She’d known she was sending him out on a death mission. She probably didn’t care. Darma only told him to do the tasks that she didn’t feel like doing. That’s the trouble with sisters, they’re too selfish.
John kicked a small rock from the bank into the slow-moving water and watched it sink quickly to the bottom. He should turn around and go back. Maybe he’d tell her she could do it herself. What he should do is keep walking in the other direction and just abandon Darma. But he knew that he never would. That’s the trouble with brothers, too protective for their own good.
It hadn’t always been that way between them. The first time they heard about the virus, John had been eight and Darma was thirteen. Listening to the grownups discuss the details of the sick and the dying was frightening to him. But teenagers are vicious, self-centered creatures, and so she teased and taunted him about his fears.
People put on masks and stayed apart, even in the same household. Their parents hadn’t seemed worried, but they began to become more cautious as the days turned into weeks and still the virus spread and grew in strength.
Businesses closed, but Darma remained unmoved. She shopped online and texted with friends, practically living on video chats. She claimed the grownups would figure it out, get over it, and stop ruining her life eventually.
Schools closed next. Their parents became depressed and lonely, and John followed suit. It wasn’t until entire cities shut down and traveling- even by car- became restricted and, in some cases, prohibited, that Darma finally gave any hint of distress.
Everyone they knew was getting sick: friends, neighbors, and even that kid from school who John couldn’t stand. They tried not to watch the news too often because everything reported was negative, awful, and depressing. The number of dead and dying climbed higher and higher at a furious rate.
John’s family sequestered themselves to their home, surrounded by fifty acres of forest and farmland, trying to remain untouched, protected. His dad made wild claims of living off the grid, hunting for food, and shooting anyone who set foot on their land. John’s mother was no better. She began refusing to even shop online to order essentials for fear that the delivery person would unknowingly bring the virus and infect them all.
Darma’s eyes eventually grew wide with alarm and stayed that way day after day. The morning John woke up to find her sitting on the front porch, staring into the distance, he knew things had truly become dire.
Their anxieties only increased as they watched first their mother, then their father become feverish and congested. They both claimed that it had to be allergies or a summer cold, but they would separate themselves anyway, just to be safe.
Their mother was the first to begin to deteriorate. John watched from the living room doorway as she lay in the hallway, outside of her bedroom, coughing and wheezing, unable to completely fill her lungs, but still trying to give them directions. She tried taking care of them from afar. Darma suggested calling for an ambulance many times, but their mother said if she went to a hospital or if a doctor came to their house, it would be a death sentence for them all.
As she lay in the hallway, unwilling to crawl back into the bedroom, and unable to drink water because she had no strength left to lift the cup to her lips, their father began to die in the bed. He’d moved into the bedroom once he became sick, claiming he could help care for his wife while he was there since they most likely had the same illness. Don’t worry, he told them, he’d be feeling better in no time.
Darma and John didn’t even know he’d been dying until it was too late. Their mother died on a Tuesday morning. Darma sat sobbing and staring down the hallway, watching her take the last breath, still refusing to endanger everyone by getting help. John began to call out for their father, yelling his name over and over again until his throat was raw and sore.
They didn’t know what to do next. What if they went closer to their parents, and they got sick, too? Weren’t they warned not to approach, not to touch, not to breathe the same air? There was no one to call, no one to help them. Everyone was sick. All the TV and radio stations had been shut off a few weeks before. The anchors and hosts, actors, producers, writers, and directors had all gotten sick and died or gone into quarantine. 
After two days of staring at their dead mother, when their father hadn’t answered or made a sound, the siblings decided to leave. They knew they couldn’t go into town, so where would they go?
Their father’s truck started easily, and Darma found that her legs were just long enough and her torso just tall enough to be able to drive the huge vehicle. However, she didn’t seem to weigh enough to keep pressure on the gas pedal and the truck moved down the road in fits and starts. They held hands as they drove the deserted streets, unsure of their fragile future.
They were able to drive more than halfway to their parent’s getaway cabin in the woods before the truck ran out of gas. They’d debated trying to stop and fill up the tank, but many of the stations they passed were closed, seemingly abandoned.
Once or twice, Darma drove on past one that appeared to be open for fear of getting sick from the clerk or other customers. What if someone coughs on us? What if someone coughed on themselves and then touched the gas pump? What if someone walked through the store, just regular-old breathing, and left behind a trail of sickness?
The truck sputtered to a stop and rolled into the roadside ditch like a slow-motion guillotine. They looked at each other, gathered their resolve, said a few encouragements, and then struck out on foot, each carrying small backpacks, and an internal fire of determination growing in their bellies.
That was over two years ago. Or at least, John’s pretty sure it had been that long. It’s hard to keep track of time when all you must go on is the sun and moon, and your sister’s changing moods. Neither of them had spoken to or seen another person in all that time.
Standing at the edge of the river, John was struck once again with the amazement of how far they’d come and how much they’d survived together. Their father would be so proud of them living off the land. Their mother would be happy to know that they hadn’t let anyone get them sick. They had outlived the pandemic.
John pushed another rock into the half-frozen river with the toe of his boot. Hadn’t they outlived the pandemic? He’d never stopped to consider if the virus still existed. He and Darma had only been concerned about getting to safety at all costs. Once they’d arrived in the wilderness, that provided an entirely new set of problems and challenges. There was no time to think about what might have happened to everyone else, only their own survival.
He remembered the determination that he and his sister had shared that day. He had felt full of power and control. Having a plan meant having a purpose, a new reality. Taking a deep breath, he searched for that feeling once more and took the first step off the bank into the icy water.
His boots were big enough! His feet were dry! John trudged through the water, out the other side, and continued along his path. Every morning for the last few weeks, Darma had sent him in a different direction, on a mission to explore further away from their camp, searching for others. Surely there must be others, she’d said.
But every time he left, he was sure he wouldn’t return. When he complained and whined about his task, Darma would calmly remind him that if they both left, then there’d be no one left to help the other if something went wrong. So, she stayed behind, knowing that he’d never abandon her. 
As the sun sank lower in the sky, John’s legs began to ache and tire. It was happening quicker these days. They ate less in the winter, but at least this winter was easier than their first. He decided that when he reached the top of the next hill, he’d stop to rest and drink from his water bottle.
Something caught at John’s nose as it floated by in the breeze. Smoke? Yes! The scent of burning wood! He couldn’t see any evidence of it, but he was certain he smelled a campfire. Suddenly, his legs weren’t heavy, they felt fresh and new, and he began running to the top of the hillside.
Reaching the top and looking down into the valley on the other side, John saw a small cabin in the distance, facing away from him, with smoke billowing out from the chimney. Surprise, then elation coursed through him. He let out a cheer and jumped into the air, pumping his fist. He landed hard on his frozen feet, then fell back, still a little unstable in the big boots that he’d taken from his father’s closet the day they’d left home.
Laughing at his clumsiness, still high on excitement, he brushed himself off and set out for the cabin, towards their future. As he walked, he imagined who he might meet. Maybe it would be a kind husband and wife who had also fled from the virus. Maybe they had once had children, but their kids had died. Darma and John, and whoever he was about to meet would fill in the gaping wounds of each other. They could all be whole and happy again.
John began running, taking huge strides in his oversized boots and big, gasping breaths, moving faster than he had in months. As he reached the edge of the small yard surrounding the cabin, he came to a stop and bent over trying to catch his breath.
Upon hearing him choking and carrying on, a man came slowly out of the back door, watching John cautiously. John tried to call out to him and greet him with all the enthusiasm he was feeling, but the run had left him without breath to speak. He began coughing uncontrollably, the frigid air catching in his throat.
John realized the man held a shotgun down at his side. Again, he tried to speak but it came out in barks and wheezes. He fell to his knees, trying to get ahold of himself. The man backed away, raised the gun to his shoulder, and took aim.
“Don’t come any closer! Do you have the virus?” the man shouted.
John couldn’t answer, only hack and cough, unable to speak.
There was an incredibly loud explosion, and then a profound silence.
John fell facedown onto the cold ground, dying.
And that (said John) is that.