No One Is Left But Im Still Here

  I woke with the sunlight hitting my face. I don’t know howlong I had been asleep with it there, but it was long enough that my eyesburned slightly. I slowly got up, my back sore from the thin mattress—stillbetter than sleeping on the floor. I put on my clothes, a simple shirt andtrousers, clipping my suspenders into place. A moment later, as I pulled on myboots, the door knob turned and the cook of the house stepped in, looking asrough and dirty as ever. His beard was unkempt, his long hair messy against agrease-covered face—though at least the hair itself wasn’t greasy. He washed itonce or twice a week.“Early bird gets the worm,” he said. I could hear theweight in his throat as he spoke. “You were sleeping like a princess. I couldhear you snoring from the barn.” “Is that supposed to be a joke?” He snorted, groaned, then spat into the hallway. “Breakfastwill be ready soon. Go wake the twins.” “Sure, David.” With that, he left. I stood, put on my hat—an old gambler’shat my father gave me before he died—and stepped out into the hallway. Passingthe kitchen, I saw David preparing oats. I continued to the twins’ room—Jamesand Jamie. A bit older than me, but good folk, like their father. I opened thedoor to find them already awake, getting themselves together. “David said I should wake you.” “Too late for that,” Jamie said. “James and I were up beforeDavid.” “And you didn’t get started with the day?” “Taking things slow. Enjoying the early morning.” I glanced over at James. He was cleaning a revolver, tryingto get the hammer to cock back. “Everything alright, James?” He groaned in response. He never spoke much—preferred tokeep to himself. “He’s been trying to fix the old thing,” Jamie said. “Hammerdoesn’t want to come back.” “Does he know cleaning it won’t fix it?” “I hope so.” James turned the grip toward me, his hand stretched out. “You don’t want it?” He shook his head slightly, still watching me. “Fine.” I took the revolver, spun the cylinder, and tried thehammer. Stuck. “David said breakfast is almost ready. Hurry up, you two.” I left the room, slipping the revolver into my belt, andheaded to the kitchen. David stood at the fire while Mr. Frieland sat at thetable, sipping whiskey and reading a book with no name. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sonsof God.” I sat down. David let out a low groan at the words. “You still believe in that?” he asked. “In God?” “Yes.” Mr. Frieland set the book down and sighed. “Sometimes.” Silence followed—not awkward, just present. David placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. “You want a drink, boy?” Mr. Frieland asked, already pouringbefore I could answer. “Thank you.” We ate. David cleaned plates in a bucket. Usually Mr.Frieland had something to say—something profound, something borrowed—but todayhe said nothing. Then James and Jamie entered and sat with us. David servedthem oats. “Sleep well, boys?” Mr. Frieland asked. “Yes, sir.” “The pigs need feeding, and some will need to beslaughtered. David wants pork for lunch.” The twins nodded. Mr. Frieland turned to me. “I saw that revolver. You’ll needa holster. It’ll fall out of your belt.” “You have one?” “Found one this morning. In a chest.” “Anything else interesting?” “Old photos. Some cloth. Clothes.” He stood. “I’ll fetch it.” When he left, the silence returned. I had finished my oatsbut stayed for the holster. I noticed the bracelet on Jamie’s wrist. “I thought you lostthat.” “Lost what?” “That bracelet.” “Me too.” Silence again—uncertain this time. “You miss her?” “Not really.” “Why not?” “We were thinking of ending things before everything went toshit.” “Did you love her?” “I hope so.” Soon after, Mr. Frieland returned with the holster. “Take off that belt.” I stood and handed it to him. He threaded it through theholster and gave it back. I fastened it around my waist. “Good?” “Yeah. Thanks.” “Even when there’s nothing, there’s always something togive.” I didn’t respond. He sat back down, hesitated, then returnedto his book. There was nothing left for me inside. I stepped out thefront door into the cold morning air. The smell of wheat and pig shit filled mynose, though I had grown used to it. I walked to the pig pen, swatting flies as I fed them andcleaned the muck. A few of the stupid things knocked into me, nearly sending meover. My revolver was broken, so I couldn’t do much about it. A couple hours later, I sat on the porch watching James andJamie harvest wheat. The door creaked open behind me. David stepped out, thefloorboards groaning under his weight as he leaned against the railing. “How you feeling?” he asked, scratching his beard. “Could be better.” We watched the boys work. “Where’d you find those pigs?” I asked. “They were here when we got here.” “Who owned this farm?” “I don’t know.” “Think they’ll come back?” “I don’t know.” Mr. Frieland stepped out, holding that big leather book. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fearno evil…” He looked up at us, hands slightly outstretched. “Fear not what you can’t control, for God is in control.” “Mr. Frieland?” “Yes, boy.” “Why does God give us this life?” “I don’t know. But He is merciful, and that’s all thatmatters.” David groaned softly but said nothing. Mr. Frieland set the book down and leaned against the post.We sat there, watching the boys, watching the sky. Words weren’t something weoften needed. I looked at David, still wearing that apron. He never seemedto take it off. “Mr. Frieland?” “Yes, boy.” “What happened to everyone?” “What do you mean?” “After everything fell apart. Where is everyone? Thegovernment promised shelters.” “We survived.” “But we aren’t everyone.” The wind shifted, carrying the smell of rust. “They’re with God now.” “So they’re dead?” “I hope so. We are done.” “Then why do we survive?” “Because I don’t want to go to hell.” By sunset, we were sitting in the same places we had beenthat morning. David served pork chops and potatoes. We ate in silence. It feltlike they knew something—something they wanted to say, but wouldn’t. I didn’thave the energy to pry. I went to bed early. Sleep came slowly. Tomorrow isanother day. And the day after that. And the day after that. The sooner thedays end, the closer I get to rest.The next morning, I woke with the same ache in my back. Igot dressed and went to wake the twins, but when I reached the kitchen,everyone was already there eating oats as usual.Everyone except Jamie.“Where’s Jamie?”A few of them groaned. James looked away slightly. I saw himswallow something heavy.“He’s gone, boy,” Mr. Frieland said, flipping another pagein his book.“Gone?”He nodded while David placed a bowl of oats in front of me.“Gone,” David said with a low rumble. “We don’t need himanymore.”“What happened?”No one answered properly. Just nods. Sighs. The moment satheavy in the room.I wanted to press further, but I knew I wouldn’t getanything more.I sat down with a sigh. A lump tightened in my throat, andmy shoulders grew stiff. I ate anyway—forcefully. I wasn’t hungry, but Icouldn’t let food go to waste.The sound of utensils and bowls made the silence evenlouder. I watched their faces as I ate. The same as always. Unchanged.Later that day, I went into the twins’ room.One bed remained in the center. The other side of the roomwas empty. Everything belonging to Jamie’s was gone.I couldn’t tell how long ago it had happened, but the fact Iwas only hearing about it now meant it had been early. Quiet. Decided.As I turned away from the room, I caught a glimpse ofsomething colorful in the pig pen through the window.I went out and picked it up.A bracelet.Evelyn.Something turned in my chest. The food I had eaten rose anddropped back down. I swallowed hard.Behind me, I heard footsteps. David and James were walkingout of the house.I quickly dropped the bracelet back into the dirt andstarted cleaning the pen, pretending I hadn’t seen anything.A moment later, I found myself on the porch again, watchingJames fix the fence while Mr. Frieland read under the nearby tree.David stepped out soon after, cigar in hand, still wearingthe apron he never took off.“David?”He didn’t look at me. “Yeah, kid?”“What happened to Jamie?”A pause. He exhaled smoke.“He’s not needed.”“How come?”He spat into the dirt, then set his cigar against the post.“I don’t know.”Then he went back inside.By sunset, I had finished feeding the pigs. Everyone wasalready seated when I returned.I sat down. I didn’t look at the food much. I ate what Icould without drawing attention, but it didn’t matter—they knew I knew. And Iknew they knew it was better to stay quiet.“David?”“Yes, kid?”“Do you believe in God?”“Of course he does,” Mr. Frieland interrupted. “He just hashis own way of showing his faith. Look here Mathe—”“Will you shut up!” David snapped.Silence hit the table.“No,” David continued. “I don’t believe in God. And neitherdo you, Joseph.”“I do very much believe in God,” Mr. Frieland said, grippinghis book. “He is king. He is everything. He is the reason I am who I am.”“Then why did God put his children in suffering?”No one answered.The discussion ended there.I went to bed early.Nothing special happened, but I couldn’t shake the feelingin my chest—like my lungs weren’t filling properly.Was I next?Maybe.Dead or not… I didn’t mind The next morning, James was gone.I had a feeling—at least an idea—of what had happened tohim. I wanted to ask, but I knew the answer wouldn’t be given, or would begiven in a way that meant nothing.I went to his room. It was empty. Completely. Like someonehad moved out, not vanished.When the sun sat just above the trees, I was on a hay balelooking at the revolver.I remembered my father. He was an amateur gunsmith. He hadan old Colt .45 and a 1911 in his drawer. After school, I would sometimes watchhim take them apart and put them back together, piece by piece, like it wasnothing.I couldn’t tell what make or model this revolver was. Butfrom the magazines my father kept around, it was probably a double-action.My cheek twitched slightly as I stared at it. I couldn’ttell if it was because of my father or James—but for a moment, I felt somethingother than exhaustion.Then I heard the grumbling crack of a machine.I got off the hay bale and went to the barn. The door wasslightly open.Inside, I could see David starting up a rusty tractor.“Shit,” he spat.He stood, turned, and saw me. No nod. No greeting. Hegrabbed his tools, walked past me, and headed toward the main house.By midday, I was harvesting wheat. The fields felt drierthan usual. Like they were meant for one person, not two.I looked back at the house. Smoke rose from the chimney. Mr.Frieland was sweeping the porch.Most people would’ve felt comfort looking at something likethat—a home still working, still standing.I didn’t.I just felt a thin relief that the day was almost over.Still, it was strange seeing Mr. Frieland doing hard laborinstead of preaching verses.At dinner, we sat in the same places as always—just fewer ofus now. James and Jamie’s spots were gone. Replaced by David and Mr. Frieland,who no longer read his book.Tonight, it was stew again. Better than before—David hadfound salt somewhere. I didn’t know where.I didn’t ask.When I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep.I kept watching the door, waiting—thinking I might be nextfor whatever they did to James and Jamie.My hand rested on the revolver. I tried the hammer. Nothing.No bullets. No movement.It was useless.But it was heavy enough. I could throw it. Maybe run.Still, sleep doesn’t wait for plans.It comes when it wants.And it came before I even knew it. I woke up.Frankly, I was shocked to find myself still in bed—and evenmore shocked that I had actually fallen asleep.I looked outside. The sun was just above the trees. Thecrops looked dead and gone. The pigs looked fewer than before.It was strange how I only noticed it now.Over the past few days, everything had been diminishing. Theanimals were fewer. The crops were barely anything worth picking—dry as abranch in the desert.I went to the kitchen and found David standing by the fire,a pot of oats hanging over it.“Where’s Mr. Frieland?”“We don’t need him anymore.”“How come?”“Because we don’t.”I sat down.David placed a bowl of oats in front of me and took theopposite seat.“David?”“Kid?”“Am I next?”“No…” he paused. “I am.”Something jolted through me. A sharp tightening in my chest,like my body reacted before my mind could.My thoughts went numb. My stomach turned.“Next for what?”“I don’t know.”At that point, I understood I wouldn’t get anything morefrom him.So I ate—slowly, sparingly. The oats tasted worse than ever.Almost unbearable. Not just for my mouth, but for something deeper I couldn’tname.Still, I finished the bowl.Later that day, I couldn’t stop watching David. Keeping himin sight felt necessary.He wasn’t doing anything unusual. Only small things—thetremor in his hands, the way he sighed after setting things down, the way hesometimes leaned forward in his chair, head lowered, before lighting a cigarfrom his pocket.There wasn’t much work left.The pigs were fed. The crops were dead.By dinner, I was watching David like a hawk. My hand restedon the revolver without me thinking about it.We ate in silence for a while before I spoke.“What happened to them?”“They aren’t needed.”“Am I needed?”“Yes.”“And you?”“No.”“But I need you, David.”“I wish that’s how it worked.”“How does it work then?”“You survive.”“And if I don’t?”“Then you don’t.”“What if we both survive?”He didn’t answer. Just kept eating.“What if we both survive?”“I don’t know,” he said finally. “But it won’t happen.”“Why not?”“I don’t know.”We finished eating without speaking.That night, I went to bed early. Sleep took me quickly. Ididn’t resist it.The next day, I woke to complete silence.I went to the kitchen. No one was there.On the table were two books and a bowl of oats. One book hada paper taped to it that read: “RECIPES.” The other was Mr. Frieland’s book,with a note inside that said: read it if you don’t want to die hopeless.I sat down and ate. There was nothing else to do.No one else.Afterward, I went outside and sat on the porch.The crops were dead. The pig pen held only two pigs now,down from five just a few days ago.I looked around, hoping—half-expecting—to see someone.David. The twins. Frieland.But there was nothing.No one is left.But I’m still here.