Tucked into an old blue sleeping bag, Jackson let the lapping of the waves lull him to sleep. The sound echoed off the old table that he had overturned to give himself some privacy from Thomas and Sheila. The stars and moon above bounced off the surface of the water, casting the old skyscraper he called home in cold light that sapped the world of nearly all its color.

Five years after the end, he was finally learning to see the beauty in the world again.

It helped that his two companions were able to smile and laugh. Sheila was excellent at fitting into small spaces and spotting useful supply caches. Her memory of the city from before was invaluable. It made sense. She’d been a tour guide. Thomas could mend their gear and get most mechanical things into working condition. Jackson thought he might’ve been some kind of engineer.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when he heard it. A rustling, crinkling noise from behind the table. He narrowed his eyes. Their last foraging expedition had been less than successful, and they had gone without dinner.

Yet that sounded suspiciously like a wrapper.

He’d lost a lot of weight since the end, and sliding out of the sleeping bag quietly was easy. Peering around the edge of his chair, he saw Thomas in the glow of the dying embers from their fire. He was always the last to go to sleep. He was also the one who had lost the least weight.

Now Jackson knew why.

Bare feet padding silently across worn low pile carpet tiles, Jackson managed to sneak around a desk before the crinkling stopped suddenly.

“Jackson?” Thomas whispered. “You awake?”

Jackson waited, holding his breath. He heard Thomas sigh in what sounded like relief, and the crinkling started again. Jackson saw red. Withholding food from hungry friends would be the last mistake the man would make.

He let out a scream as he vaulted the desk. Caught completely by surprise, Thomas yelped and fell off the beaten office chair he had claimed when they staked out this floor as theirs a month ago. He tried to roll out of the way, but Jackson was already on him, fists flying, his knees driving hard into the man’s ribs.

After a few minutes, Jackson felt Thomas go limp. He was vaguely aware of screaming, crying. Sheila’s hands on him, trying to pull him away. He let himself stop.

The man below him was nearly unrecognizable. But the prize was within reach. His hands shot up and he yelped out wordless triumph.

Reaching for the wrapper, he grabbed it. He recognized the logo, a sweet confection from before. The sugar, grease, and preservatives would have made his mom go nuts about it.

But there was something hanging from it. Jackson frowned, lifting the little bit of paper. In Thomas’s tidy handwriting, there was a small message:

> "To: Jackson. Happy Birthday. From: Your Best Friend, Thomas."

r/TenspeedGV