WIPE (A Post-Apocalyptic Story) by Joseph Turkot Page B

Just dropped something,” I say. And then I hear her bed creak and she doesn’t say anything more, like she’s rolled over and gone back to sleep. And summoning every bit of courage I have, enough that on any other night you would think Maze was right by my side, I go up to the window and lift it up to see who’s there. And knowing it must be her, begging myself to believe that it really is her, I stick my head right out into the night and look around.
                A cool gust of wind blows across my face, and the snappy scent of the pines crawls into my nose. And then, just when I’m convinced it was a bird tapping, and there was no hand, I hear the voice, even before I see a body.
                “Wills ... ” comes the tiny sound. Right away I know.
                “ June —what are you doing?”
                “Here, take this,” she says. And then, her little hand raises a piece of folded paper. I grab it quickly and pull it inside.
                “What is it?” I say, seeing a look of fear cover her face. Her hair falls down over her eyes and she tells me just to read it. And then, just like that, she says she has to get home before she’s caught.
                “Alright,” I tell her. I watch her dart away, through the backyard bushes and the garden, disappearing without another sound. Then, after shutting the window again, I lean back on the bed. I have to strike a match to light the candle on my nightstand, but then I see the handwriting and I recognize it right away. It’s from Maze. On top it says Deliver to Wills , and after I unfold it a hundred times, through the creases, I make out her words.
     
    Wills,
               
                I’m taking off. I have to. There’s something big going on, and I have no time to waste on becoming a Saint. I took a lot of heat off of you, so you shouldn’t get a harsh judgment. But here’s the thing—I’m not going to try to stop you from coming. I mean, if you believe in my bullshit now, after seeing it for yourself today. But I’ll leave it at that. I can’t force you to. You’ll have a safe life in Acadia.
                If you don’t come, I’ll understand. You’ve got to believe me on that. It’s pretty reckless what I’m about to get into. And people here still like you. You’ve always fit in well with everyone. All of that being said, you nearly beat me to the ocean last night. I could use that kind of speed on a burner like this. Either way, you know I always love you.
     
                - Maze
     
    P.S. If you decide to come, be careful getting out. Use the map I drew here. I’ll be at the X until noon. If you don’t come by then, I’ll be gone.
     
    My eyes study the crude map scribbled underneath Maze’s sloppy handwriting. Her drawing skills are just as bad as her handwriting, but I recognize the lines instantly. She’s gone to one of our oldest haunts—a  concrete tunnel from the days before the Wipe—some kind of ancient irrigation or sewer system that we found under the forest that leads away a mile into the woods until the roof crumbles in and debris clogs it. A treasure find from one of our first expeditions off of Fatherhood-approved trails. Nothing too exciting besides the allure of its connection to the old world. Still, it had been enough of a thrill at thirteen years old. Now, Maze is squatting there alone, probably in the pitch black, waiting to see if I join her.
     
    For the rest of the night, I wrestle with what to do. My head keeps flipping back and forth between whether or not to ditch the house and the town and my mom and everything tonight. Spring right out of bed, get dressed, and meet Maze in the dark—past the north forest trail and then right into the woods—all the way until the mound appears by the rock pond. Wolves or not. 
                But a big part of me is scared to death to leave with