Day 45: Dreams of the Past
The ruins were quiet as the group settled for the night, the red glow of the sky dimming into a deeper, more oppressive shade of twilight. Eli lay on the cold, hard ground, his eyes fixed on the broken ceiling above him. Sleep seemed impossible after everything that had happened—the weight of the boy's situation, the constant threat of the looters lurking somewhere out there. But exhaustion had a way of pulling him under, even when his mind resisted.
His eyelids grew heavier, and soon, Eli drifted off into the fog of sleep, slipping away from the ruins and into the warmth of a memory.
Eli was home.
The world around him was different—whole and untouched by the chaos that had devoured it. The air was warm, and the sky outside was a soft, clear blue. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of fresh soup in front of him, the scent of it filling the room with a sense of comfort he hadn't felt in what seemed like a lifetime.
His mother stood by the stove, humming quietly as she stirred another pot. She had always been like that—soft-spoken, always busy with something, but her presence alone made everything feel right. She turned to him, her eyes warm as she smiled, and Eli felt a knot form in his chest. It was a smile he hadn't seen in so long, a smile he thought he'd lost forever.
"Eat up, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle. "You've got to stay strong."
Eli tried to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he reached for the spoon, the warmth of the soup spreading through his hands as he lifted it to his mouth. The taste was perfect, the kind of simple perfection he hadn't known he'd missed so much. It filled him with a sense of peace, something he hadn't felt since the world had fallen apart.
Across the room, his father sat silently at the small wooden table, his face set in the familiar stoic expression Eli had grown up with. His father had always been a man of few words, but there was strength in his presence. Eli had never needed him to say much—the way he carried himself, the way he looked at Eli, had always been enough.
But now, in this dream, Eli felt something more. He felt a longing, an ache he hadn't fully recognized before. He missed them. He missed them both so much it hurt.
His father glanced up, his dark eyes meeting Eli's across the table. There was something there—something quiet, something knowing. His father didn't say anything, but Eli understood. He always had. His father was the rock, the steady presence that had kept their family grounded, no matter how hard things had gotten. And now, in this strange, peaceful dream, Eli wished more than anything that he could stay here, with them.
"Eli," his mother said softly, her voice pulling him back. "It's time."
He looked at her, confused. "Time for what?"
But she didn't answer. She just smiled at him again, the same soft, comforting smile, and the warmth of it filled him from the inside out.
Then, the kitchen around him began to fade.
Eli woke with a sharp gasp, the warmth of the dream slipping away as the cold reality of the ruins settled in around him. His heart pounded in his chest, the memory of his parents still fresh in his mind, as if they had been right there, with him.
He reached up to his face, feeling the dampness of a tear that had slipped from his eye during the dream. He wiped it away quickly, his throat tightening with the weight of the loss. The dream had felt so real, so vivid—it was like being pulled back into a part of his life he could never return to. His mother, always so kind, so nurturing. His father, strong and silent, but ever-present. It had been years since he'd lost them, but that dream had made the ache feel fresh again.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering emotions from the dream. The ruins around him were still, the others sleeping nearby, their breaths even and quiet. The cold of the night pressed against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the dream he'd just left behind.
And then, he heard it.
"Twenty-nine… twenty-eight…"
Cass's voice, soft but deliberate, counting quietly in the dark.
Eli's breath caught in his throat as he listened. She was doing it again. The counting. Every night, like clockwork, her voice slipping into the silence with that same quiet intensity.
"Twenty-seven… twenty-six…"
He couldn't see her in the dim light, but he knew she was awake, sitting just a little ways off, keeping watch as she always did. The sound of her counting had become almost routine by now, but it never stopped unsettling him. He didn't understand it—why she did it, what it meant—but he knew it was important. And he knew it had something to do with what was coming. The rain. The day that everything would change.
"Twenty-five…"
Eli wiped the last remnants of the tear from his eye, his mind still reeling from the dream. The sound of Cass's voice counting down sent a chill through him, grounding him back in the present. There was no room for sentimentality here. No room for the warmth of dreams. Only survival.
"Cass," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the dark.
She didn't stop counting, her voice unwavering. "Twenty-four…"
Eli didn't push it. He had tried asking her about it before, but she always brushed it off, changing the subject or telling him not to worry about it. But how could he not worry? The way she counted, the way she seemed to know exactly how many days were left until… something. It unnerved him.
He lay back down, staring up at the broken ceiling again, the last fragments of the dream slowly fading from his mind. His parents. His old life. They felt so far away now, lost in the chaos of a world that no longer made sense.
"Twenty-three…"
But as Cass's voice continued to count down, Eli knew one thing for sure: whatever was coming, it was getting closer.
And soon, they'd all have to face it.