Entry #6
From The Archive: A Fictional Account of Memory and Myth
If you’re new to The Rebel MFA Way, welcome! This is an entry from my on-going serial fiction experiment “The Archive.”
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Day 51 – Morning
We’ve hit a literal crossroads.
East to the suburbs. West to the city. Two paths, two sets of risks. And one indecisive idiot trying to figure out which brand of “probably going to die” to choose.
The suburbs seem easier. Scavenging would be quicker, houses lined up like a post-apocalyptic buffet. But open streets mean open targets. And I’ve been shot at enough for one lifetime, thanks.
The city, though? That’s a different beast. Tight quarters, plenty of places to hide. But hiding spots work both ways, and you never know what—or who—might already be there.
Atlas keeps whining at me, leaning into my leg like he can sense my hesitation. Freya’s pacing, her nails clicking against the cracked asphalt, her hackles raised. Even Bastet looks at me like I’m an idiot for just standing here.
They’re waiting for me to make the call. I’m supposed to be their fearless leader, but right now, I feel like the dumbass who wandered onto Survivor without knowing how to start a fire.
“Suburbs or city?” I muttered. “Slow starvation or quick disembowelment?”
Neither of them answered. Typical.
When in doubt, pull a card. That’s the rule, right?
I shuffled the deck, my hands moving on autopilot. I didn’t need the cards to tell me I was fucked no matter what I chose, but there’s something comforting about the ritual.
I pulled a card. The Two of Swords. A woman blindfolded, holding two crossed swords. Indecision. Paralysis. Me, standing at this crossroads like an idiot.
“Yeah, thanks for that Universe.”
I pulled another card.
The Chariot. Determination. Momentum. Forward motion.
Your voice whispered in my head: “You’ve got this, Ari. Just pick a direction and go. Don’t stop.”
What if I’m leading us straight into danger, though?
Atlas whined again, his wet nose nudging my arm. Freya barked, a sharp sound that echoed through the silence. Bastet just flicked her tail like, Get it together, woman.
We stood there for what felt like hours, the sun beating down on us like it had a grudge. I stared at the suburbs stretching out to the east. Overgrown lawns, abandoned houses, streets cracked and empty. Suddenly, I realized going that way would likely mean a slow death for us all. A cul-de-sac tomb disguised as safety.
Then I turned to the west, to the city looming on the horizon. Shattered glass, concrete skeletons, shadows so deep you could get lost in them. It felt like a trap.
But I’ve been trapped before, and I know how to claw my way out. So, I finally made the call.
“City it is,” I said, my voice rough. “Hope you guys are ready for a shit-show.”
Atlas wagged his tail, his trust in me absolute. Freya let out a soft bark, like she approved of my choice. Bastet, naturally, remained unimpressed.
We started walking, the city growing larger with every step.
Day 51 – Afternoon
I thought I could make it to the city without stopping, but my body had other plans. Hunger clawed at my stomach.
So when I saw the house—two-story, sagging porch, shutters barely hanging on—I decided to take a risk. I hid the cart in a bush.
“Stay close,” I told the dogs. “And Bas? Stay here, no disappearing acts.”
The door creaked when I pushed it open, the sound loud enough to make me flinch. The inside was worse than I expected. Dust, broken furniture, walls smeared with… something I didn’t want to think about. Freya sniffed at the air, her hackles raised, while Atlas stuck close to my side, his growl low and constant.
But the kitchen had a container of applesauce sitting on the counter, like a goddamn prize. My mouth watered just looking at it.
And then the floor creaked behind me.
I spun around, knife in hand, and came face to face with a man. Grizzled beard. Scar down his cheek. Eyes like ice.
He smirked when he saw the container in my hand. His hands twitched at his side. “Looks like I’m not the only one scavenging.”
Atlas growled louder, stepping in front of me. Freya was right there with him, her lips curled in a snarl. They had the same idea as me.
The man raised his hands, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Easy. I’m just passing through.”
“Then keep passing,” I said, my voice steady.
He didn’t.
It happened fast. Too fast.
One second, the guy was standing there, sizing me up. The next, Atlas lunged at him, teeth snapping inches from his face. The man stumbled back, cursing, and I took my chance.
“Let’s go!” I shouted, grabbing the applesauce and bolting out the back door.
I grabbed the cart from the bushes, nearly tipping everything over, including Bastet.
We ran like hell—through the overgrown yard, across the cracked street, past rusted-out cars and shattered windows. The man shouted behind us that he’d find us. There was a promise in the way he said it. Like it was his singular apocalyptic wish to catch us. And do what? I shuddered. The pounding of his footsteps—too close, too close—pushed me to run faster. My breath was wildfire in my chest, every muscle screaming to stop, but I couldn’t, I wouldn’t.
Not until we were sure he wasn’t following us.
We ran until the world was quiet around us. We stopped at a crumbling office building, hidden just enough in the city sprawl. My legs weren’t just heavy; they were stone, lead, fucking anchors. If I hadn’t kept moving, I’d have collapsed then and there.
Atlas was still panting, pacing beside me, his ears twitching at every distant sound. Freya licked her lips, her tail stiff, still in fight mode. Bastet, blessedly unbothered, leapt onto a chunk of fallen concrete, stretching out like we hadn’t just been chased for our lives.
I pressed my back against the wall and forced myself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. It didn’t work. My hands were still shaking, my chest still tight, my body too aware of how close we’d just come to death.
This was my fault.
I was the one who thought stopping was a good idea. I was the one who walked into that house. I was the one who underestimated that man.
I ran my hands over Atlas and Freya, checking them for cuts or scrapes, needing something to do with my hands. Atlas whined and nudged my shoulder, like hey, idiot, we’re fine. You don’t have to keep beating yourself up.
But I needed to.
The “what if” scenarios keep flashing in my mind—if I hadn’t moved fast enough, if he’d had a gun, if Atlas hadn’t lunged when he did.
The thoughts made me dizzy.
“But you kept everyone, alive.” I heard Finn’s voice well up within me. “It’s time to breathe.”
I sucked in one last deep breath, exhaled slow, and finally let my body stop. I crouched next to my pack, unzipped it, and pulled out the container of applesauce—the reason I nearly got us killed.
“All that for this,” I muttered, turning it over in my hands.
Atlas cocked his head. Freya wagged her tail. Even Bastet seemed vaguely interested, sniffing the air like maybe she’d take a lick.
I unscrewed the cap, dipped my pinky in, and tasted it.
It was sweet. Tart. The best goddamn thing I’ve had in a long time.
I let out a laugh—half relief, half hysteria.
“We should be dead,” I whispered, shaking my head. “And instead, we got applesauce.”
Atlas wagged his tail harder. Freya huffed like she agreed.
I scooped up a few more bites, then handed the rest to the dogs.
They deserved it more.
I looked at Atlas and Freya, their loyalty written in every line of their bodies. Bastet rubbed against my leg, her purr rumbling like a motor.
They’re my pack. My family. My reason for keeping one foot in front of the other now that you’re not here.
The city loomed ahead, dark and waiting. I didn't know if we'd find salvation or just another graveyard. But we had nowhere else to go.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Before that maniac actually finds us.”
Day 51 – Evening
We found a place to rest. Not safe, exactly—nothing is safe—but sheltered enough. A half-collapsed public restroom building. A good enough roof to keep the night out.
The candle light flickered and the shadows dancing on the wall felt like premonitions.
Atlas and Freya curled up beside me, their bodies warm against my legs. Bastet curled up on my chest beneath the wool blanket. The world outside hummed—distant wind rattling broken windows, the occasional scuttle of something too small to worry about. I should sleep. I need to sleep. But I can’t.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear him.
I’ll find you.
I know it’s just my brain replaying it, chewing on the words like a dog with a bone. But what if it’s not? What if I missed something? What if he tracked us? What if, right now, he’s out there? Watching. Waiting.
My chest tightens. It starts slow, an uncomfortable pressure, like a fist curling under my ribs. Then it builds. Creeps up my throat. My arms go numb. My breathing turns sharp, shallow.
No, no, no. Not now. Not here.
I sit up fast, shoving my hands through my hair. The world tilts. My heartbeat is a hammer in my ears. I press my palms to my face. I try to breathe.
In for four, hold for four, out for four.
It doesn’t work. It never fucking works.
I pull my pack closer, rummaging through it, even though I already know that I won’t find what I’m looking for.
No meds. No little orange bottles, no white pills to dull the edges.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Focus. It’ll pass. It always does. It has to.
Atlas shifts, lifting his head to watch me. Freya lets out a soft whine. Bastet flicks her tail, unimpressed by my meltdown.
I could really use some of Finn’s reassurance right now, but apparently he’s going to let me work through this one on my own.
I grab my tarot deck, my hands shaking. A stupid reflex. I need something to hold onto. Something that makes sense.
Shuffle. Breathe. Shuffle. Breathe.
Atlas nudges my arm, his big eyes full of worry. I run a hand over his head, grounding myself in the solid weight of him. I’m not dying. It just feels like it.
I press my forehead against my knees and rock back and forth as I wait for my body to believe me.
Updated Ration Log:
1 can of refried beans (because you can’t live on applesauce alone).
2 cans of peaches (I’m salivating for them).
1 can of spam (might last forever, should keep).
2 cans of creamed corn (will not eat if I can help it).
3 stale granola bars (slightly less horrible when you’re starving).
1 tin of sardines (I feel bad for holding out on giving treats).
1 tin of instant coffee (still unopened, still sacred).
1 Milky Way (felt like dying so I ate it)1 container of applesauce (our prize for nearly dying today).
1 wool blanket (ugly, warm, still irreplaceable).
