Volume 3 – Chapter 22: The Call

Date: August 23

Last 38 Days

The air was still this morning, as if the very world was holding its breath.

Kaito sat cross-legged on the floor with the satellite communicator in his lap, fingers cradling it. A light on the side flashed softly and blue; stable signal. That was rare. Unpredictable. Almost like a breath that the earth forgot to let out.

Rika was next to him with her fingers laced so tightly around the warm mug of instant coffee that it hardly seemed that she'd take a sip. Holding his knee with the other hand, she prevented Kaito from going too far into doom—reminding him that whatever they had to face, they wouldn’t have to face it alone.

They’d agreed to start with her parents.

Kaito input the code. The screen blinked on. Static. Then… ringing.

Long, slow, mournful rings.

Then, "Hello?"

Rika froze.

"Hello? This is—Is someone there?"

"Mom?" Rika's voice cracked. "It's me. It's Rika."

A pause, then disbelief. "Oh my god. Rika, Rika-baby-is that really you?"

The voice of her mother was weak and thin, stretched upon weeks of fear and silence. Rika tried to speak, but her voice was blocked by tears. Kaito reached out to her, resting his palm on her back.

"I'm okay," Rika finally whispered. "I'm alive. I'm safe."

A shuddering breath on the other end, and then her mother's voice came back, falling to pieces: "We thought you were gone. They said… they said everyone up north was—"

"We were," Rika gently cut in. "Almost. But we made it out. We found shelter. We survived. Kaito's with me."

Another silence. And this time, from a voice softer, "You...together?"

Rika turned to Kaito. "Yeah. We are."

The call went quiet for a few beats, and then her father cut in, raw and trembling. "You two—you're still fighting out there? Still trying?"

Rika hesitated. "Yes. But now it's different. We're not just fighting to win. We're fighting to live. To hold onto something human."

Then her mother's voice again. "I wish we could see you. Just once."

"You will," Kaito said, leaning toward the mic. "We'll find a way. Before it ends."

The silence that followed was different, heavy with things none of them could say. For another fifteen minutes, the call continued. Talking about inconsequential things—memories, Rika's childhood home, the stupid cat that still scratched at the kitchen door every morning until now. There were more tears. Then laughter. Then some more tears.

When the line dropped, Rika remained seated. Not in sadness. Something else. A gentle throb.

---

Later that afternoon, they managed to make a call to Kaito's parents.

That one was harder.

The line crackled even worse. The connection dropped once. Twice. On the third attempt, the call went through, the voice on the other side dry and cracking—his father's.

"Kaito?" the man says, as if he does not quite believe it.

Kaito exhaled slowly. "Yeah, Dad. It's me."

In contrast to shorter interactions with his parents, this was, however, less emotional. No tears, long pauses and hushed affirmations. Just the voice of his mother rang last in his hearing. "Whatever happens, Kaito... just be kind to her. And come home, if there is still a home left."

He nodded, though she could not see it. "I will. I promise."

---

That night, Kaito and Rika again spent outside under the dim stars behind the clouds. But they were there-somewhere.

"Feels like we just opened all the doors that we spent months trying to keep closed," Rika murmured.

"Yeah," Kaito said. "But it felt right."

Rika leaned her head on his shoulder. "We should keep going down the list."

He looked down at her. "What next?"

She pulled the crumpled paper from her pocket, opened it; the ink slightly smudged with earlier rain, and read it aloud:

"Number Four: Tell the others. Everything."

Kaito sighed. "That one is going to be hard."

Rika nodded. "They deserve to know."

And then began a long silence between them.

"Tomorrow," he eventually said.

"Tomorrow," she echoed.

They did not speak again then. They did not need to. The silence was interspersed with a lot of understanding.

The stars never completely broke through the clouds that night. But they still remained outside, gazing at the heavens, holding onto the tender warmth of truth and each other.