Breakwater

The animals knew. They did from the beginning. Even now, they know. The thing was, nobody ever bothered to pay attention. 

Cats seemed to be the most sensitive to them, could feel a Flicker coming in long before anyone was affected. It was an awful name for them, granted, didn't give you that sense of impending doom they warranted, but it was the only thing you'd ever see of them. Just a flicker out of the corner of your eye. A single moment where something just looked… utterly wrong, but you couldn't place your finger on what exactly it was. So I befriended every cat I came across. 

The newest to join our little pack was a young tabby with an injured paw. I found him in a dilapidated shack in a state park, north of what used to be Santa Cruz. We camped there for a few nights, my little clutter of cats and I, and waited to see if any others joined us. None did. 

I'd been planning to spend one more night there, just long enough to finish replenishing supplies, but the cats became… uneasy. It was almost eerie, the way all their heads turned at once, ears twitching, eyes searching for something I'm still not entirely convinced they can even see. I had my bags packed and the little tabby in my arms in a matter of minutes. 

Nowhere felt safe anymore. I'd made the godawful mistake of traveling through the remnants of Los Angeles a while back. I still don't know for sure if it had been overrun with Flickers or if people had just turned on each other. I was attacked four times before I made it through the city. There were countless other times I simply out ran anyone who looked vaguely threatening, which was everyone I came across. 

I saw one once, back when I biked everywhere. Back when I only had one kitty to feed. I'd set up camp outside of a well established sanctuary of sorts. Breakwater. The people were kind. The kindest I'd met since the first Flicker. They'd welcomed me into their community almost immediately. It'd taken me a week to decide maybe settling down for a little while wasn't the worst idea in the world. I can't even begin to express how wrong I was. There was one guy there I'd gotten along with particularly well, who had, if I'm being honest, been the sole reason I decided to stay. I don't like to think about him. 

I'm sitting here, little tabby sleeping in my lap, staring out at this lighthouse right now and… thinking about him. You know, he used to talk about the ocean a lot. He used to say that, when all this was over, we would find a little vacant house on the coast. Live out a peaceful life. 

Breakwater had been rigged to the gills with motion sensors and thermal cameras, EMFs and other equipment used for ghost hunting. We all thought they were ghosts. Or something of the sort. I don't know what I believe anymore. But this place, it doesn't have any of that. Maybe we would have been safer here, just the two of us. 

I don't know what the Flickers are or how they're able to affect people's minds the way they do. Whatever they are, they're cruel. 

---

It looks like someone lived here recently. Most of the cobwebs look young and there's not enough dust. I wonder what happened to them… 

The cats love it here. There's plenty of space to explore. Byron would have loved it here too. Especially the lighthouse. I haven't been up there yet.

I should see how the little one is doing. I cleaned and bandaged his paw back when I found him but he's still been limping around a bit. 

---

It took me almost an hour to find him. He was up in the lighthouse, playing with a little locket. If I believed in fate and all that, and maybe I kind of do, I'd say that cat was worth us for a reason. For this exact moment. 

You see, if I'd decided to come up here on my own, I don't think I'd have seen the locket. It was hanging from a nail up at the top, where the light is. It was easy to miss, except the little cat was sitting there batting it around. 

Hope began to bloom in my chest. I knew it was impossible, but I hoped it was his. Byron's. I hoped there was a scrap of paper inside, a sappy love letter scrawled in my hand. I knew when I opened it I would instead be staring down at a picture of a stranger. Because Byron was dead. Died at Breakwater. 

I sat down, slowly, pulling the little cat into my lap and taking the locket off the nail. My hands trembled as I opened it. Something fell out. A bit of paper folded up into a tiny little square. 

Byron. 

---

About a week passed. I was getting ready to turn in for the night when I caught a dark silhouette moving toward the lighthouse. I called out to him, still half expecting it to be someone else, still expecting my hopes to be dashed at any second. 

The figure stopped and turned toward me. Eternity passed. Then, in a matter of moments, the person dropped their bags to the ground and began jogging toward me. 

I knew it was him. I'd spent months watching his every move. I knew the way he ran. But still I expected to see someone else's face. 

"Elliot?" 

His voice sounded exactly as I remembered. His face looked exactly as I remembered, except that his beard was a bit longer now. His arms felt the same when they wrapped around me. He smelled the same. He was my Byron. Somehow. 

---

He's sleeping now. He'd survived Breakwater, but he was damaged from it. I'd never met anyone who had survived a Flicker. Until now. 

He was traumatized from it. Said he had nightmares all the time. Everyone had turned on each other. I saw the beginnings of it when I was there, right after I had seen the Flicker myself, right before Byron told me to run as he tackled someone who was trying to attack us. 

I'd waited for weeks on the outskirts, but never saw him. When I found my way inside I couldn't find any survivors. Half the place was burned down.

I don't know exactly what happened or how he made it out alive. I know it'll take a long time for him to work through everything that had happened there. But we have time now. Time and each other.