This is a Life

“This is a matter of life and death. Are you sure you want to settle it by arm wrestling?"

Aisha's face is tear streaked and I know mine is too, but I set my jaw and nod.

“We'll never decide otherwise.”

Grant huffs out a sigh but does not argue further as Aisha and I settle our elbows on the worn old card table in the corner and clasp hands, our breaths shortened by the lack of breathable air.

Overhead I can hear the rumble of the storms that never stop, my ears always reaching for any noise that might possibly be human.

“We don't have much time,” Grant's tone is sharp, but I cannot be angry at him.

I study Aisha's face over our clasped hands and nod at her, “Ready?”

Another fat tear rolls down her cheek, but I don't let it distract me. She returns my nod, the pressure of her hand against mine immediate.

Friendship was not something that came easily to either of us. Nearly as hard won as the life we scraped for ourselves.

I return the pressure, catching a glimpse of the single protective suit in the corner. Salvation, for one of us.

Aisha's dark curly hair is plastered to her head, tendrils against her cheeks. The lack of air in our quarters making it feel hotter.

Her eyes meet mine and I feel her strength falter, questioning for herself whether this contest is worth it. I increase my pressure, and a slight smile tips up one corner of her mouth. These are our last moments together. Forced into a contest neither would have chosen.

The last weeks have taken away much of my strength but winning against Aisha would be an easy thing. A single tear, softening my stare, and her hand would drop. She would give me the suit and watch me walk away.

This is why I hold her eyes, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

“Gilda,” she is hesitant. “I don't want to do this.”

“Tough.” I grit my teeth against the fear in my throat and right before the back of my hand touches the table, I begin to smile.

For a moment Aisha stares at our hands intertwined on the table, like she can't quite believe it.

I motion for Grant to give her the suit, and even with her protesting, I force her feet into it.

“You don't have much time. Even now you may not make it.”

She shakes her head at me, more tears rolling down her cheek.

Aisha is not weak; she is simply not hardened by the destruction of everything we thought would last forever.

“Gilda,” her voice catches on my name. “What about you?”

“Listen,” I pull the suit up over her hips and fasten it there. “It's not over till it's over.”

“You won't get out,” Grant's voice interrupts me. “There's no time and no oxygen.”

I grin at him, a feral smile meant to make him back off.

“I will do whatever I determine to do.” He lifts his hands in quick surrender. Grant doesn't care.

We are lucky he found us and happened to have an extra suit.

It is true decency that has him waiting for Aisha to be readied to take with him.

Her hands on mine still my movements, then she reaches up to her neck where a small golden locket rests.

She unfastens it and holds it out to me, wrapping my fingers around it.

“This will do me no good.” I don't mask my exhaustion.

“Perhaps it will remind you of the courage you already have.” Her voice is soft before she leans in and kisses me on the cheek, a quick brush before she's zipping up her suit and Grant is fastening her helmet on.

I look through the protective glass to her face and clench my jaw to hold back the tears, smiling because she doesn't need another reason to stay.

“Goodbye Aisha.”

Her gloved hand clenches mine for a moment before Grant is hustling her down the hallway to the thick door. She glances back once, and I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks again.

Then the door closes, and they are gone.

The rumble of the storm around me has fear once more replacing the sadness clenching my throat, and I back into a corner, the heart shaped locket held tightly to my chest.

Grant was right when he said I wouldn't make it. Even now, my breaths come in pants and my head feels light, but that doesn't mean I have to sit here waiting for my doom.

Picking up the rock we once used as a weapon, I carry it to the back of the sorry dugout we've called our quarters for the last week. What little strength I have might as well be useful.

I drag it through the dirt at the back of the cave, digging gouges into the clay.

It's true I may not have time, but somewhere down the road someone else might. Someone might find this shelter and maybe they will live.

My hands begin to bleed at the roughness of the rock dragging against them, my breath coming in the uneven gasps I have come to recognize as the beginning of the end.

The panic in my chest tightens with my lungs seizing, demanding oxygen that no longer exists. My hands lose their grip on the rock, and it thumps to the ground. I realize I've leaned against the wall, my hair falling about my face.

I clench the locket in my fist, ignoring the blood smearing the delicate etching on its surface. I can't keep my eyes open, but I hold out for another moment so I can remember the hope.

The words scratched into the walls with my last strength.

“Life will come again.”