Petrichor

"Sixty-two days, Liona, we're almost there."

Zeke knew he should be saving his breath, the treacherous climb up the side of a bomb crater was already taxing enough. But he couldn't help giving words of encouragement to his wife, knowing she too would be struggling on the crumbling slope. He was exhausted, they both were. It had been sixty-two days since the world descended into chaos, and they'd been travelling ever since. Granted, all progress they’d made was somewhat slow, given they were both pushing sixty. But then, perseverance and stubbornness were the two most fundamental words in Zeke's vocabulary. The couple had trudged onward together, their sojourn's scenery a mixture of barren, wasted landscape, smouldering ruins, piles of decaying corpses, and ever-burning fires; each of these bleak tableaus rendered hazy by a toxic fog. When the last broadcasting radio host had urged people to seek higher ground, away from the fog, Zeke and Liona had done just that. They’d only taken the time to fill a pair of backpacks with supplies from a vandalized corner store before they began walking.

"We're almost at the top," he called over his shoulder, his gas mask hindering his ability to see her response, "Maybe we'll find others there."

Through the entirety of their journey, they hadn't come across a single living thing. Most people had been wiped out by the bombings, then more lost to starvation and sickness, then the clouds of poisonous mist further depleted what was left of their species. Really, as far as Zeke knew, he and Liona could be the only ones left on Earth.

He reached for the rubble above him, gripping a protruding rock and pulling himself upward. Only for it to give way, taking a chunk of his fingernail with it, leaving him clinging to whatever of the shale he could dig his free hand into.

"Liona, are you alright?" his first instinct was always her.

He peered below him and saw her give a shaky thumbs-up. They continued, for well over an hour due to constant breaks, until cresting the top. Just ahead lay the last leg of their arduous trek, a small mountain with a flat top boasting greenery and clear air. Zeke reached into his bag, extracting a bottle of water and lifting his gas mask just long enough to take a swig. He saw Liona doing the same. He wouldn't voice it aloud, but he was worried she might not make it to the peak. Their travels had already taken a heavy toll on her, all coming to a head after they'd learned their son and his family died in one of the bombings. She'd been much quieter these past few weeks, hardly saying anything at all. He was glad for it, as it meant less time she spent with her mask off. They could talk again once they were safe, when they could finally relax.

There had been multiple times along the way where Zeke had just wanted to lie down and give in to the harrowing conditions, to his flagging health, to the utter depletion of his already weary body. But he'd pushed on, for Liona. So she could see another sunrise, breathe clean air, so he could see her smile again. The way ahead seemed insurmountable, and Zeke heaved a tired sigh as he thought about it. But on exchanging a significant look with his wife, he felt a renewed energy, pushing himself to his feet and helping her stand as well.

Step by debilitating step, they scaled the unforgiving rock, Zeke constantly thankful for his and Liona's active lifestyle prior to the day everything changed. Darkness soon fell, right as they made it to a small outcrop that would serve as a place to rest for the night. Zeke pulled out their one shabby sleeping bag and they crawled into it together, huddling for warmth beneath the moon's cold light. As usual, his sleep was restless and filled with nightmares, which he often suspected were a byproduct of the fog. He was always left with a feeling of relief when the light of dawn would sneak beneath his eyelids, as it was now, offering an escape.

He stretched, and immediately felt panic overtake him to find he was alone in the sleeping bag. He shot up, practically tripping in his haste to disentangle himself. A wild look around revealed Liona was nowhere to be seen, though his mask obstructed much of his sightline. Zeke removed it briefly, desperately casting his gaze about until she appeared from behind a rock, holding a roll of toilet paper.

A sigh of relief rode along on his exhale, "You scared me, Love."

She walked over to him and wordlessly slid his gas mask back down over his face, shaking an admonishing finger at him. He raised his palms in mock surrender and began packing their things. The murky sunlight was already scattering shadows by the time they began moving again. It was still slow going, but by late afternoon, they'd almost made it to the top. Only about twenty feet of narrow ledge lay between them and their destination.

"Look, Liona, there's trees!" Zeke cried excitedly, leading the way carefully along the ridge.

Just a few more steps, they were nearly there. Then Zeke heard the sound of cascading gravel behind him. He looked on in horror as Liona fell, the eroding stone having disintegrated beneath her feet. Below her lay a sheer drop, a death sentence waiting at the bottom. Zeke lunged, just barely managing to grasp her hand, his arthritic joints cracking in protest. Sweat broke out across his forehead as he started pulling her up. Then a tearing noise sounded; it started off quiet, but grew in volume until he realized it was his backpack strap. It slid down his arm as though in slow motion, leaving him seconds to make a choice. Liona was slipping from his already tenuous hold, and if he tried to catch the bag, she'd likely fall. Without a moment's hesitation, he let the backpack go, watching it spiral downward as he gripped Liona's hand with both of his and hauled her to safety. He held her tightly and leaned against the rock face, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He daren't peek down again. He didn't need to look to know his supplies would be scattered everywhere, including the little food and water that was left, their medications, and his gas mask filter replacements. At least they had Liona's bag, even though it held less supplies.

With a painstaking pace, they finally made it to the top. Zeke instantly removed his mask and sprawled out on the grass. The sun had been replaced by heavy, purple clouds, but he didn't mind because it was still a clear view of the sky. He closed his eyes and took the first breath of fresh air he'd had in ages. Then a laugh erupted from him when small, cool droplets splattered onto his face.

"Rain! It's raining, Liona," he grinned widely and rolled over.

But he was met with only the sight of grass and trees, swaying in the wind brought on by the shower.

"Liona?" his voice fell on empty space.

A series of small metal clinks below him drew his attention. There, draped across the grass was a silver, heart-shaped locket that had slid from his pocket when he'd shifted.

"Liona's locket," Zeke murmured, reaching for the necklace.

He traced his thumb over the familiarly etched design on the front, easily unfastening the clasp, as he'd done a thousand times. It popped open and revealed a picture of the two of them smiling, indescribably happy in that snapshot. Zeke’s brow furrowed when he registered a smear across the bottom of the photo. It was rusted brown in colour, like a drop of dried blood. He brushed his finger over it and was suddenly assaulted with a memory. One he'd clearly suppressed. Or rather, tossed it aside in favour of the illusion the toxic fog had granted him.

"No," he choked, one hand covering his mouth while the other clutched the locket tightly to his chest.

The rain poured onto him, blending in with his tears as his mind finally cleared, and he remembered that Liona had died in his arms fifty days prior. She'd spoken her last "I love you" around a mouthful of blood, the fog having decimated her lungs when it snuck in past her ill-fitting mask; for days, and they’d both been none-the-wiser. Zeke had dug her grave with his bare hands, marking it with a crudely carved headstone made from some salvaged detritus. While lingering near her remains had been the wish of his heart, he’d nevertheless donned her mask and pushed forward. Consistently and unwaveringly, her final request that he, ‘Keep keepin’ on,’ echoed through his mind, even louder whenever he yearned to give up. It hadn't taken long for the fog to seep into his nervous system and convince his already frayed mind that Liona still walked with him. All this time.

Only now, in the clear air, did reality settle in; while he lay in the fresh grass, the rain tapering down to only the occasional drop. His senses were overwhelmed by petrichor, Liona’s favourite scent. She’d always insisted on dragging him out for walks after a rainfall, helping him appreciate the world anew. But now it only left him feeling so very alone. Like he was the last man on Earth.