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Chapter 2: Garden of Memories

The air smells like wildflowers and rot—sweet and sour, tangled together, just like everything else in this broken world. I push through the overgrowth at the entrance of the botanical garden, my fingers brushing against thick vines that wrap around shattered glass and rusted beams. The place is a mess of colors, flowers blooming unchecked, petals vivid against the backdrop of decay. It's almost like nature's way of spiting us—as if to say, "Even when you fall, I'll keep going."

I keep my steps light, moving deeper into the garden. There’s no real path anymore—just a tangle of weeds and broken stone.

I hear the rustle of leaves and catch a glimpse of movement up ahead. I step carefully over a fallen branch and make my way toward the sound. Marcus is crouched near a patch of herbs, his sandy blonde hair sticking out from beneath that worn-out baseball cap he insists on wearing. Marcus and I are both eighteen, but it feels like we’ve lived a lifetime since the invasion. He’s got a field guide open, the pages creased and smudged, his eyes darting between the plants and the book as he tries to identify them.

“Find anything useful?” I ask, my voice low as I approach. I keep my eyes scanning the area, always watching for movement. You never know when they might show up.

Marcus looks up, a grin spreading across his face. “A few things that might not kill us,” he says, holding up a handful of green leaves. “But I’d feel a lot better if our resident plant expert took a look.”

I kneel beside him, setting my pack down and taking the herbs from his hands. I sift through them, pointing out the ones that are safe and tossing aside the ones that aren’t. “This one’s good,” I say, holding up a leaf with serrated edges. “But these—” I toss a couple of wilted stems to the side—“will give you a stomach ache at best."

“Good to know,” Marcus says, his grin not fading. “I’d hate to be the guy who poisons everyone by accident.”

“Yeah, let’s not add that to the list of problems we’ve got,” I say, giving him a small smile. It’s hard not to. Marcus has always been able to make me smile, even when things are at their worst.

Claire’s voice cuts through the quiet, her tone sharp. Claire seems like she’s in her thirties, though she’s never told us her actual age. She’s got her bow in her hand, the string drawn just slightly—a warning to anything that might be watching. The bow isn’t for the hissers—it would be useless against them. No, it’s for humans, the ones who’ve turned savage, the ones who’d take whatever we have left if given the chance. “We should move soon. Daylight’s burning.”

I look up to see her standing a few feet away, her eyes constantly scanning the perimeter. Claire’s always been like that—vigilant, focused. She’s the reason we’re still alive, honestly. Marcus keeps us smiling, but Claire’s the one who keeps us breathing.

Marcus shrugs, glancing at Claire with a playful smirk. “Always the ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Claire?”

She doesn’t respond, just raises an eyebrow, her expression as stoic as ever. I shake my head, turning my attention back to the plants. Marcus doesn’t let her cold demeanor bother him—he never has. I think he sees it as a challenge.

As I gather the herbs, I let my thoughts wander for just a moment. I’ve known Marcus for as long as I can remember. We were neighbors, friends since kindergarten. I remember him as a kid, always running around, getting into trouble, making everyone laugh. He’s still the same, in a lot of ways. Even now, after everything—after the invasion, after losing everything we knew—he hasn’t lost that spark. I don’t know how he does it. Sometimes I think he’s just trying to keep the rest of us from losing hope. Maybe that’s why he jokes so much—to keep the darkness at bay.

“You know,” Marcus says as he watches me work, “with all these tasty herbs, we could start our own restaurant. ‘Marcus and Alina’s Post Apocalyptic Garden Bistro’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I snort, shaking my head. “Only if you want to poison half our customers.”

“Hey, I’m learning,” he says, holding his hands up in mock defense. “Besides, it’s not like anyone else is lining up to do this job.”

“No,” I admit, “I guess not.” I glance at Claire, who’s still watching the edge of the garden, her eyes sharp and unyielding. “But she’s right. We should get moving soon. The longer we stay here, the more likely it is they’ll find us.”

I shoulder my pack, standing up and looking around the garden one last time. The sun is dipping lower, the shadows growing longer, stretching across the ground like dark fingers. I don’t like being out here this late—the hissers are more active at night, and the last thing we need is to get caught out in the open when they come.

“Let’s go,” I say, nodding toward the gate. “We’ve got what we need.”

Claire gives a curt nod, already moving toward the exit, her bow at the ready. Marcus falls in beside me, and we make our way through the overgrowth, stepping carefully over fallen branches and cracked stones. I glance up at the sky, watching as the last of the sunlight fades. The stars are already beginning to show, faint pinpricks of light against the deepening blue.

We reach the gate, the wrought iron twisted and broken, vines tangled through the bars. Marcus holds it open for me, giving a mock bow as I pass through. “After you, m’lady,” he says, his voice tinged with humor.

I roll my eyes but smile. “Just keep moving, Marcus.”

We step out of the garden and back into the ruins of the city, the air cooler now that the sun has dipped below the horizon. I feel the familiar weight of tension settle over me as we leave the relative safety of the garden behind. The world outside is dark, dangerous, and we have a long way to go before we can rest.

Claire takes the lead, her steps purposeful, her eyes sharp. Marcus walks beside me, his shoulders relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. I keep my knife ready, my eyes scanning the shadows, every muscle in my body ready to react at the first sign of danger.

Together, we move through the gate and into the night, the botanical garden fading behind us, swallowed by the darkness.

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