There were few places less attractive to Finnlay than the world of splinters, of filth that he and his best friend were subjected to on the daily. Never was it their idea to leave the comfort of four walls and three meals—the very idea seemed quite asinine. What would they do upon being thrust out into the open unknown?

           “Scavenge?” Finnlay almost choked on the word while he hugged his chest with arched shoulders and a tense neck. “I just ain’t made for this world,” he turned to his friend and blew a raspberry after releasing the tension in his body.

           The second boy, blonde with loose curls, lifted his chin and felt receding warmth stick to his face for a handful of seconds before a chill returned over his skin. “Alright. Let’s make the best of it, huh?” Aaron reached to the sky and spread his fingers. A whining yawn sirened from his throat. At first, Finnlay attempted to fight off a bout of unwarranted shame. “Oh, it’s okay. The one thing we can do out here is be loud. Listen,” he raised his eyebrows and took his friend’s shoulders into his grip. “We can be very loud.”

           Through a pout, “Still rather be inside. I can’t get sick inside.”

           “Hm.” Aaron sniffed and pulled away to examine his companion. “I think you’re afraid.”

           “Nuh-uh. No way.” He clicked his tongue and turned away, his arms returning to the tight huddle around his chest.

           He attempted a softer approach, even lowering his voice into a kind whisper to accompany the method. “It’s okay to be afraid, dude. Look around us! How can anyone be out here and not feel scared?” Aaron then pointed out the tall fence with sharp tips pointed to the sky that surely would be devastating if they found themselves impaled upon them. Bushes constructed of intertwined and curling twigs that would surely be an awful and inescapable trap if one were to fall into them. A bird called from overhead and filled the two with primal fear followed by the clean aftershock of draining adrenaline.

           Panicked, Finnlay said, “We have to find cover.” His eyes were kept to the sky and, for once, was thankful that rolling clouds had decided to dampen the day. If it weren’t for the presence of these transient visitors, the white sun would cast a glaring spotlight and blind them, leaving the boys open for attack.

           Without a word, Aaron gestured to a structure made of swollen plywood and peeking iron nails. “Careful fitting in here,” the boy warned. He martyred himself by leading the way. “Caught myself on one the other day.” Finnlay blinked, his mouth falling a half-inch before realizing how his expression must have looked.

           Four days ago, a gauze had been tightly wound around the top-half of Aaron’s right arm. They didn’t talk about it—the look on the blonde haired kid’s face was enough of an explanation. Finnlay remembered his flared nostrils, his stoic eyes and flattened lips.

           He proceeded to trail behind his friend with limbs tucked in as much as possible and with excessive intention guiding each step.

           What little light remained of the day broke through gaps in the wood and illuminated the dust that was kicked up by their shifting feet. By the time they had reached the end of the twisting cavern, the only illumination was that of the exit. The bird cawed and they heard the shuffling of its wings before its talons gripped the platform above their heads.

           The creature was hidden from them, its exact location impossible to ascertain. In Aaron’s mind, he could imagine the bird’s head twisting and cocking, its eye focused on the sound of their heavy breathing.

           Finnlay’s mouth was dry as he leaned in to ask, “H-how big is it?”

           Utter confidence paired with absolute desolation, the blonde boy replied, “Five, maybe ten feet tall.”

           “Wow.” The only reference he could conjure would be the image of his father who, though five-foot-seven, was by all accounts a giant in comparison to the nine year old. His eyes searched the silty ground for a weapon of some sort. He nudged Aaron and subsequently apologized for startling him. “This could help us.”

           Aaron inhaled, captured the breath, and let it go after a long contemplation. Upon the exhale, he crouched and acquiesced what was once a half-buried screwdriver.

           Having been protected by the elements, the object was in pristine condition: a shank bereft of rust, a handle of splitting yellow rubber. “Finn,” the boy swallowed. “I don’t want this.” He was quick to pass ownership of the tool and shoved it forward with both hands.

           “What? N-no, I don’t… I can’t—”

           “You’re the one who said—”

           Finnlay backed away and bumped his head against a piece of wood used to brace the platform above. He coughed and bent his body out of self-preservation. The beating of wings startled the children below and Aaron cradled the screwdriver with both hands, the head pointed outward while the handle dug into his chest.

           The two remained observant, silent. Even Finnlay, whose messy auburn bowl cut wasn’t enough padding to prevent damage, stifled any seething.

           Caw!

           They exchanged a glance and Aaron squeezed the interim weapon with all of his might. At that moment, his friend wished he had accepted the offer while he still could. There was nothing to protect him against the wild beast posted outside of their wooden enclave. Having been the first to be injured was, in fact, a detriment; even if the boy could outrun the winged creature, a gaping hole had been torn in his confidence.

           As if reading his mind, Aaron said, “We need to move.”

           “What?” He searched his friend’s face for an explanation. “There’s nowhere else to go. We’re only gonna be safe here.”

           “No,” he exhaled and turned his gaze to the screwdriver. Rotating it in his hand, observing its shape, its weight, the boy formulated a plan. “We have to scare it away.”

           Ca-CAW!

           The two took in a sharp breath. To their right was an opening, a space small enough for just one of them to squeeze through. Aaron continued, “We’re sitting ducks. If it figures out where the exit is—”

           “You mean the entrance.”

           A tiny groan escaped his throat when he nodded in agreement. “Right. So, you have to trust me. Okay?” He licked his lips and turned to the portal with wound muscles, the weapon pointed in expectation for an untoward greeting. To himself, he repeated, “You have to trust me.” Louder, with a twinge more confidence, “On three.”

           The anxious countdown began and abruptly ended upon reaching the second number.

A flitting shadow performed a quick pounce. The beating of the bird’s wings was a muffled cacophony above the two boys, its talons briefly scraping against the wood before lifting away. Aaron’s brow sank. “Now!” He threw himself forward and reached for the swollen wooden blocks around the exit but didn’t remove himself from the tunnel.

Finnlay collided with his friend’s back and dropped his first ever cuss: “What the heck, Aaron?” The boy’s tone was panicked, his chest tight. “Go! You have to go!”

           “No. No.”

           Led by the desperate Aaron, the boys struggled to slink back to where they once hid, encountering tiny scrapes and pricks along the way. He didn’t stop with Finnlay. Aaron shoved his friend aside and hurried past him, curses of his own falling from his lips like raindrops that began to release from the heavy clouds above their enclave, above the backyard, above the neighborhood.

           He watched the blonde boy disregard whatever measures of safety previously insisted. Bumping against each wall, the screwdriver was still firmly in his grip. The defenseless Finnlay, with his throbbing head, was left alone at the end of the wooden maze.

           A damp breeze wormed its way in and a booming sneeze followed. Strange, he didn’t feel sick. He was chary of symptoms associated with the common cold (of which he’d just recovered from a month ago), so the pressure in his head insisted its arrival was due to his only allergy, the one that caught him at inopportune times while visiting friends and family and consistently prevented him from the companionship he truly felt he deserved.

His one allergy, the one that swelled his eyes with goopy tears and painted his shiny, ballooned cheeks crimson.

His one allergy, the one that suddenly everyone else in the United States shared with him.