Barry awoke to intense pain in his lower back. Sleeping in a bed was bad enough. Falling asleep in a recliner was a horrible idea. The throbbing of his sciatic nerve pulsed down his left leg. His right thigh was burning and there was a concrete stiffness from his tailbone to his neck. He tried to close the leg of the chair, but as soon as he pushed down on the leg, a searing pain knifed his lower back. Barry went rigid but quickly realized it made the pain worse. He went limp. Letting his weight sag into the padded leather. The intense pain in his back began to dull.


    Going sack-of-potatoes, like that, was not pleasant. The muscles of his core, neck, and shoulders were stiff and taught. Forced to endure the constant shifting and favoring, to adjust to the eminent needs of his back, these muscles were overworked. Relaxing into the chair forced his spine to bend forward. As his massive weight pushed downward, it overcame the resistance of the supporting muscles and connective tissues. Slowly, his ass sank as his head and knees drew together. It was not that drastic of a stretch. He shifted only a few inches. The decompression of his spine sent needles to his fingers and toes. Long pinched nerves awoke, and little fairies danced down his right leg. An electric tingle ribboned down his penis and into his scrotum.


    For a moment, the tortured man’s body was enraptured by prickles, tickles, shocks, and jolts. There was a rush to his head, almost as if he were on the brink of unconsciousness. He hovered in euphoria, unaware of the pain. He sank a little deeper. His knees bent a little more. The searing pain no longer assaulted him.


    It became uncomfortable to breathe…


    As he was folding in the chair, his voluminous belly had nowhere to go. Crammed between his chest and thighs, his gut prevented his diaphragm from fully expanding. Barry wished he could stay like that forever, but he knew better. He lifted his hips, to straighten out, but after a couple of inches, he couldn’t force them any further. He was afraid of this. Barry called this problem, the Hollow. Sometimes, if he stayed in a position, too long, it made him feel this hollow feeling in his lumbar spine. When this happened, it was like a kink in a water hose. If it was kinked, completely, Barry felt nothing below his waste. He couldn’t walk, stand, or wiggle his toes.


    There were times when it was only a little kinked. In times like those, a little signal got through. His feet may be dead, but he could feel the rest. Once, his whole right ass cheek went dead. No sensation, or feeling, at all.


    It was inconvenient, but Barry learned that it only lasted as long as the position was maintained. All he had to do was change positions. Unfortunately, this Hollow was preventing nerve function from reaching the muscles needed to fully thrust his pelvis forward. Barry strained to lean forward, but his center of gravity was centered around his belly. He let himself flop back into the chair.


    I’m so tired of this shit.


    He twisted to one side and rolled toward the chair''s armrest. His right leg rotated over his left leg. He felt for the floor with his foot. He found the floor and planted the ball of his foot. Next, Barry let his right hip drop from the leg of the chair and lowered his knee to the floor. Finally, with both hands on the arm of the chair, Barry pushed with his arms as he straightened his right leg. He placed his left foot, now free of the recliner, next to the right.


    The whole ordeal only took about ten seconds, but Barry felt like he had just climbed a flight of stairs. At over four hundred pounds, it took a lot of strength, and effort, to move around as well as Barry did. He was always athletic and never avoided hard work. Even now, he would do anything that was needed, but he avoided unnecessary physical tasks.


    Resolve was a trait of Barry’s, long before his injury. He could always muster enough of it to cook dinner. Even when he should have sat down hours ago. When he was on the clock, he ignored the nagging pain and kept going. If the trash didn’t get taken out, he would shuffle it out to the garbage can, telling himself “Just a few more steps” as he made his way back inside.


    Over time, how Barry prioritized his “needs” began to shift. He started forgoing long walks or sitting in hard chairs. He learned to live without being able to access anything below his knees. A dropped pen required a broom and dustpan to retrieve. His shoes now had no laces, as he could not tie them. A thousand little things needed a thousand new ways of doing them. As his life became more painful, he stopped wasting willpower on things that caused him extra pain. Cardio was the first thing he cut.


    As Barry leaned on the arm of the chair, huffing and puffing, he knew he needed to lose weight. He knew that whatever was happening to the world, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. He had a feeling there was a lot of walking in his future.


    Barry leaned against the chair for a moment, dreading the pain that would come when he stood straight. He summoned his resolve and pushed himself from the chair. He straightened his spine. The nerves in his back erupted. His mind swirled and his balance evaporated. Reflexively, he let himself teeter toward the wall. He just needed the support, for a moment. It always took a few seconds for his head to stop spinning after the initial jolt of pain.


    Barry''s focus returned. He no longer needed the wall to support himself. He opened his eyes and spun away from the wall. His foot snagged on something. The other got tangled in the unseen obstacle. His body was still vertical, so his fall started slow enough. Barry had time to plot an optimal trajectory. Deciding on the nearby couch, he twisted to the right and allowed his right knee to bend into the turn. As he fell, he reached out to soften the landing. Just before impact, Barry noticed Doyle curled on the couch. Barry let his knees collapse, hoping to drop faster and avoid the sleeping man. His right knee dropped down on the wood frame of the sofa, while his left continued toward the floor. This caused Barry to pitch to the left. His momentum flung him downward. There was a sharp crack as all of Barry’s weight drove his left shoulder through the front edge of the couch. Barry cursed loudly, as he rolled onto his back.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Barry tried to straighten his right leg, to see if it would help the throbbing in his knee, but something was in the way. He lifted his head and looked to see what was in his way. Barry spotted the garish remains of Jimmy, and the events of the previous day rushed back into his thoughts.


    The commotion startled Doyle. He bolted upright, clinching a throw pillow. "It wasn''t a fucking dream," he yelled toward Jimmy’s bloody remains. Doyle noticed Barry on the floor.


    “Are you ok, man?"


    “I’m fucking great,” Barry spat, sarcastically. "Could you help me up?"


    Doyle reached down and grabbed the prone man''s hand. He pulled as Barry pushed himself up with his other arm.


    "What the fuck happened last night man?" Doyle asked. "This shit can''t be hap…” he trailed off. “What’s with the yellow color?” he asked.


    Barry’s first few moments of being awake were frantic and he hadn’t noticed the yellow tint of the world outside. “I haven’t got a clue. But, it has to be from the bombs. Probably, what did that to Jimmy,” Barry theorized.


    Doyle gazed out a nearby window. The yellow haze was everywhere. It wasn’t thick, like a fog, more like when dust gets kicked up and hangs in the air. For about thirty yards, Doyle could see things clearly. The farther out he looked, the more the discolored air obscured the view. In the distance, he could just make the darker rooftops. They appeared to be floating in the strange atmosphere.


    It was eerily quiet. The calmness was unnerving. Doyle could not see the Sun, but he could tell where it was glowing. It was a few hours after sunrise. Even a podunk town like this should have some cars, some people, or something moving around.


    “I don’t even see a dog, man, “Doyle informed the other man. “Not a squirrel, a bird, not even a damn… never mind,” Doyle interrupted himself. “I see a couple of dogs.”


    Barry walked to the front of the bus and inspected the other side of town. He quickly spotted a large group of little birds flittering around some bushes. “There have to be more people,” Barry assured Doyle, and himself.


    Doyle turned from the window and plopped onto the couch. “What do we do? Where do we…”


    BANG BANG BANG


    Both men jumped at the unexpected banging on the side of the bus. Doyle jumped to his feet and grabbed a knife from the tiny kitchen sink. Barry turned in the direction the noise came from. Both men listened, but didn’t hear anything.


    “Who’s out there?” Doyle yelled, but no reply came.


    Barry was not a jumpy person, but this whole situation had him on edge. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing was shallow and rapid. Scanning the area, he grabbed the little wooden tire club protruding from behind the driver’s seat.


    “See anything?” Doyle asked.


    Barry started to answer, “I don’t…”


    BANG BANG…bang bang bang bang


    Doyle’s head snapped toward the front of the bus. He watched as Barry spun around, facing into the stairwell, and dropped into a fighter’s stance. The wooden club looked too small in the man’s massive hand.


    “There’s somebody at the door!” Barry yelled. Doyle asked him who it was, the foolishness of the question eluding him.


    “How the fuck would I know?” Barry shot back at him.


    The door shook. Barry took a single step down and tried to get a better look at the person. A gloved hand slapped the door glass.


    “FUCK,” Barry growled. He hated being startled. “What the fuck do you want?” he asked the stranger.


    “Inside.”


    Doyle heard the response and looked to Barry for answers. Barry waved Doyle over to him. Doyle hurried over, stepping carefully around Jimmy’s body, and peeked around the staircase partition. All he could make out was the silhouette of a person wearing a jacket with the hood up.


    "Who are you?" Barry asked the unseen speaker.


    “Is that you, Doyle?” the outsider asked.


    Doyle looked profoundly perplexed when he heard his name. Purely out of shock, he answered back, “It is.”


    "Holy Shit! You''re alive." The voice answered back. "I thought everybody was dead."


    “What’cha wanna do? It’s your bus. Your call.” Barry asked.


    Doyle had no idea what he wanted to do. All of this was way beyond him. He had no idea what was going on. He did want answers, though. He and Barry had no idea what was going on outside, but this person would have seen something.


    "Can I come in, please?" the voice politely asked.


    Barry looked from the door to Doyle. “Your call,” he repeated.


    Doyle didn’t move. He froze up.


    Tap tap tap tap


    “Give us a minute.” Barry told the stranger.


    Doyle looked at Barry and started to speak but stopped. He did this a few more times, before Barry held up his empty hand to stop the man.


    “Take a deep breath. Count to ten, and just pick yes or no.”


    Doyle did as Barry instructed. He finished his ten-count and opened his eyes.


    “Well?” Barry waited.


    TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP


    The door rattled with each of the rapped knocks. Doyle looked from Barry to the door, and back to Barry.


    “Hello?” The stranger was growing impatient.


    “Yes, or no, Doyle? In or out?” Barry pressed Doyle.


    Doyle still wouldn’t decide. Barry moved down the stairs and stood at the door.


    “You have ten seconds, or I decide for you.” Barry’s hand moved to the sliding bolt that locked the door. He looked up at Doyle and began to count.


    “10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5.” Barry grabbed the bolt. “4. Come on Doyle. It’s your bus. Your choice. 3!” Barry slid the bolt, just a bit. “MAKE A CHOICE,” Barry ordered.


    “I CAN’T!” Doyle screamed. “What if it’s the wrong choice?”


    “2.” Barry continued. Last chance, Doyle.” Barry slid the bolt, a little more. The bolt was nearly clear.


    “Wait, wait, wait!” Doyle pleaded. “What if he is going to rob us, or something?”


    Barry didn’t answer the question. Instead, he lifted the little wooden bat into the air and waived it around.


    “He could have a gun!” Doyle’s eyes were wide with fear. Genuine terror rode on his words, but Barry did not care. He recognized anxiety. He knew Doyle wasn’t reacting, logically. Doyle had been through as much as Barry. They were both scared and uncertain. Barry lowered the bat and put on a kind expression.


    “We will be ok, Doyle. I’m here, with you. That person is alone, they are probably just as scared as we are, but they are stuck out there.” Barry pointed through the glass panes of the door. “In that yellow stuff,” Barry added.


    Doyle calmed, slightly, as Barry finished speaking. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. When they opened, Doyle opened his mouth to speak. He froze again, but only for a second, before he lost his composure again.


    “I can’t,” Doyle whispered


    “1.” Barry turned back toward the door; like he was tearing off a band-aid, and he jerked the bolt clear.