PEARL

People sometimes said time was a social construct.

They were most decidedly full of shit.

Time passed like an aching bruise, blending my sense of reality with numbness ever since I arrived at the underground bunker. Hours could have been minutes. Minutes could have been days. Days could have been weeks.

How much time had truly passed?

Green foliage turned rustic red from the fallout; radioactivity altered all forms of carbon-based life, our radio had said. The only thing left was that same radio that worked little, and the seven dirty, sweaty men that sat on all the corners of our small shelter, being polite enough to give me some space.

I said polite, but they were anything but. They made me want to bang my head against the concrete wall whenever they spoke. They didn't give a flip about the millions dying; just about how much money they had before the world was set ablaze. Their cars. Their boats. Their millions which meant nothing now.

Truth be told, I had little to lose myself. As a child of the system, I was a ward of the court until I was eighteen. Out on my own, pretty much. Friendships were only surface-level and fleeting. Just the basics of keeping good relationships with your contacts as a journalist, nothing more.

I spoke little. I sat in my corner, arms wrapped around my knees, focusing on my breathing. Just breathe. Breathe what I could of this polluted air, tinged with body odor and the sickly sweet smell of rotting food. The smell of the only food left, as if things couldn't get any worse.

I looked at my dirty nails, wondering if there would ever be a chance to get clean again. My dark brown hair was greasy and clumped together, framing my face. I wanted to get out of here. I hated it here.

But if I left the shelter, I'd die of radiation sickness.

From what I knew about radiation exposure, is that in high doses, it would alter your DNA. Break down your biological makeup. Bust open your veins before you even have the chance to administer morphine for the pain. The insignificant burns I had before would be nothing compared to opening the bunker door.

An explosion made the walls of our shelter shake. Particles of dust rained on me, adding to the grit in my hair. I didn't even flinch.

"The fighting is less frequent," Brandon observed.

He stood at the far end of the shelter, looking bored.

Even though he saved my life, I didn't enjoy his company. He was a cocky jerk, possibly worse than the rest of them here. Call me spiteful if you will, but pointing a gun at me was too far. Too much. My eyes stung with fresh tears—surprising, because I was probably dehydrated.

All of my followers were gone. Dead. Likely buried feet under rubble, lost and forgotten. The corkboard I painstakingly hung with newspaper clippings and photos to bring them the truth—all gone, gone, gone.

I was not a conspiracy theorist, just somebody who wanted answers.

Boy, did I get a lot of unwanted answers.

"Less fighting is promising," he continued. "The violent ones are dying out. If you ask me, I think all of this has something to do with the damn aliens."

I stifled a groan. Aliens. The topic of my career as of late. Was he right, though? Were they the cause of this?

"We can't hold out any longer," another man—William—rasped from somewhere near.

I shut my eyes. Sure, if I wasn't starving to death, covered in sweat, and wearing filthy clothes, I'd start concocting theories about how this could have happened. I would have broken up their fighting with stories. But the longer I stayed in this hole, the more the fibers of my very being frayed apart.

"You better not be lying about the government coming to save us," William added. "You told us we'd survive this. That we were meant to survive."

Brandon had a sour voice. "You think I would lie to you?"

"Maybe the radiation has melted your brain. It's been too long—it's almost like they forgot about us."

I tensed for yet another fight. William already had a split lip and a black eye. Such a shame, too. He was old. Still a target, regardless of his age.

I opened my eyes when I felt a tickle on my leg. A cockroach. I flicked it away with my hand and shuddered.

"Let me remind you, old man. Before this world went down the drain, I had millions of dollars, three estates, two companies, and money enough to buy this shit hole." Brandon stopped to chuckle. I suppressed an eye roll. Here we go again. He was about to get a fist to the face if he didn't lose his attitude. "You are lucky that I allowed you in here. The rest of us are elites. They gave us a heads-up before this."

William's tired face, which was full of anger before, smoothened out. He jabbed a finger at me, his mustache twitching. "She's elite?"

I clenched my jaw. No, there was no way I was elite. I was twenty-four and had a flimsy degree in journalism. When the economy tanked, I gave up on trying to find a job with a living wage. I did my own thing, went my own way.

I wanted to know why I was here, too, but I didn't want to converse with these tired, angry men who just wanted to fight.

"I was told to find her. I am just following orders."

I still did not know who could've wanted me alive. It made little sense. I was a nobody, a social pariah telling whacky stories online.

A joke.

Another man—Joseph, I remembered—cackled. Actually cackled. If anyone was unhinged, it was him. He probably was a bad dude before all of this began. I was down here in proximity to him—weak, powerless, and he never stopped staring at me. Creepy.

"So you're telling me you gave room to that bitch when there are hundreds of others who are worth something more?" he sneered, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Why couldn't you have saved a scientist? A doctor? Just look at her. She hasn't said a peep since she got here. Got no spine, and by the looks of it, no brains, either."

Oh, fuck you, buddy.

I dug my nails into my forearms. If I wasn't so insistent on staying out of their squabbles, I would have slapped the taste right out of his mouth. Not usually one to get violent, but personal attacks were pointless in this situation.

"He's following orders," William said, sounding reproachful. He spread his hands out in front of him, shrugging. "Maybe she's special, who knows. She's probably just still in shock."

"Well, she better snap out of it—"

Another boom rocked the shelter. As soon as the earth settled, they argued more, their voices rising above one another. Violence hung thick in the air. It wouldn't be long before they threw fists at each other again. I stopped placing bets on who would win long ago.

I plugged my ears with my fingers.

While they yelled at each other for what felt like forever, I hummed to myself, rocking back and forth, focusing on the fractals of light that blossomed behind my eyelids. I was tired. Too tired. Only when things seemed calmer did I unplug my ears.

Then, six knocks on the shelter door—quick, heavy, and sharp. Everyone stood up. I scooted back a few inches, bracing myself.

Brandon's voice was full of relief and conviction. "They are here."

I stood up just before the door to our shelter opened a crack. The light made my eyes sting and water. My heart hammered in my chest. No, the radiation, the bad air! What are they thinking?

Before anyone could react, a dense cloud of white smoke filled the room like a liquid. It gathered around feet, boxes, and opened cans of moldy food. Each man fell to the floor, as if someone had sucked the life out of them. With the exception of one.

I pressed myself against the wall behind me, certain that the smoke would knock me out, too.

But it didn't.

I inhaled. It smelled like lilac and eucalyptus, cool and more like water vapor, not smoke. As the white cloud dispersed, I stared into the back of the only person who was as unaffected as I was. But it was too hard to determine who.

"Are you okay?" I asked frantically, swallowing at the sight of the unconscious bodies on the ground.

The battery-powered light in the corner flickered. I moved, covering my nose and mouth with my shirt, trying not to walk on arms and legs. Pebbles crunched under my feet as I reached out a hand and put it on his shoulder. It was the old man, William, and his shoulder was hot to the touch, even through his shirt. He turned to face me.

I tore my hand away and took a couple of steps back.

His eyes.

They were bright purple, glowing in the dark like two lamps of amethysts. The aura of the room became oppressive; suffocating, even though the smoke seemed harmless... to me, at least. A piercing ringing overtook my hearing, and I wobbled on my feet.

"Guess not," I mumbled. I need to get out of here. But William was standing in the exit's way. Dang it!

Even if I got out, how long would I survive on the surface? Maybe an hour max.

"You have a choice," he said, and I deadpanned.

The voice was not William's, but deeper. Layered. I cringed in the shelter's corner, yelping as I knocked over a piss bucket. It soaked my left leg and I gagged. It was cold, not warm. Maybe cold was better than warm.

That voice. I had heard it before. Right before all of those scientists and researchers ended up in the hospital back at the ranch. Right before I got off practically scot-free with minor burns. Familiarity came rushing back, and an odd calmness washed over me.

Greedily, I welcomed it.

"What choice?" I slapped a hand over my nose at the smell of urine. "Who are you? What are you? I feel like I know you."

This was not William. Not anymore. This was the thing that talked to me that night. Why was it here? What did it want?

His shoulders jerked and his head snapped up to stare at the ceiling. Thankfully, he turned away. The eyes were too intense.

"Are you one of them? " I asked, my voice coming out nasally as I pinched my nostrils shut. Despite the odd calmness washing over me, I still couldn't keep the bite out of my tone. "You know, one of the aliens? Hi, I'm Pearl, and I researched your presence for a living. I'm not so crazy after all. Why did you try to warn me that evening when we were prodding around on that ranch? Why are you here now?"

When he responded, his voice was even deeper and resonating through the space like an earthquake, rattling my teeth. I swear I felt it in my bones. In my soul.

"The end of your world was not our doing." William—who wasn't even William anymore, but whatever—flexed his arms and tilted his head. "You tampered with things that you can never understand; the night at the ranch was the result of those actions. I do not own an explanation. You can either stay here and die, human, or I can transport you to another shelter on Earth with better resources. Or you may come with us. In either case, we believe you do not deserve to have your life adversely affected by the mistakes committed by your kind."

I tried to become smaller against the wall behind me, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. The tranquility his voice brought was gone the moment he started giving me options.

Despite the way my job had prepared me for whacky scenarios, I shook. Vomit surged, but I held it back with pursed lips. I swallowed hard, eyes never leaving the back of his silver, messy hair. "Why me?"

"The Enuki cherishes all brilliant minds."

Anooki? What was an Anooki?

"Not sure I understand. I'm anything but brilliant. I'm just a curious cat who apparently ran out of lives. Why don't you be nice and give the poor man his body back? Then we can talk."

"There is no time to banter back and forth. Make a choice."

Make a choice.

"I choose life," I said quickly, holding my midsection. "Even if you send me to another shelter with better resources, that's a hard life to live when those resources run out and the smoke clears. Whatever you are, I'm not afraid of you, so get me out of here. I throw in the towel. I'm done. Get me off this god-forsaken planet, I don't care where I go."

That last part was true. Spending the last few weeks here had melted my brain. I didn't want to go to another shelter and have to fight for food. I wanted a room that didn't smell like sewage, and a world that wasn't on fire. My entire career was spent chasing these... things.

Guess it was finally time to face the music.

He cocked his head to the side. For a brief moment, I wondered if this being expected that answer. "You choose to come with us, then."

I glared at the dirty floor that was occupied by passed-out men. One of them snored. Okay, so they weren't dead, so that was a plus. Lucky bastards, I hadn't slept well in days.

"Why not?" I asked. "If you wanted to hurt me, you could've at the ranch. I'm a journalist looking for answers. Not much going on here these days besides radiation and starvation, as I'm sure you know."

Then I really thought about my reply.

Just what did they look like? A heap of tentacles? Robots? Little green men? Shoot, they could look like anything. Anyone would think I was insane for siding with extraterrestrials, yet it was humans who I struggled with.

Almost as if this being was unsure, it said nothing.

Did it really think me that big of a coward?

"I said yes. Come on, get me out of here," I hissed. "Load me up in your saucer or something. It stinks in here. By the way, I have a lot of questions. So, like, prepare for an interrogation about the tic-tac object that one Navy pilot... wait. What's happening?"

The smoke moved like it was a living, breathing thing. It descended on me, snaking around my neck, sticking as beads of moisture in my hair. It was neat for a fraction of a second, until spots of black filled my vision.

The last thing I felt was the cold floor.