October 26, 2020
Chapter One: Angus
Chapter One
He walked with his head down, his eyes turned away from the rays of the setting sun as he dragged himself forward one labored step after another. The old, tattered bag slung over his shoulder carried his meager belongings. A now nearly empty plastic bottle, a kettle for boiling water, a dirty rag full of berries he’d found that morning after leaving the ramshackle building he’d taken shelter in the night before, and an assortment of other items he refused to get rid of for sentimental—or masochistic—reasons. He never could decide which it was.
The items were mostly useless now, remnants of a life that felt like a dream, and carrying them across this desolate land had weighed his shoulders down until he began to worry he’d wake one day to find himself permanently hunched. Still, no matter how many times he’d unzipped the bag with the intention of throwing the items out, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were all he had left of that long-ago life, of an existence where he’d been part of something, where he hadn’t been alone. Well, that and the memories, but those had faded until they were nothing more than shadows of what they’d once been. He couldn’t remember the last time he could clearly picture the faces of his friends, and he had no clue how much time had passed since they’d died. Hell, he didn’t even know how long it had been since he’d seen another living, breathing person, since he’d spoken to someone else, since he’d spoken aloud just so he could wrap himself in something other than the endless silence of this world.
Too long, he realized. Much, much too long.
It had been decades since time had any real meaning for him. In the beginning, when he’d first found himself alone, he’d clung to his humanity. He’d talked to his lost loved ones for hours, carrying on conversations that had no beginning and no end, hoping to distract himself from the never-ending emptiness of this new world. It had been useless, though, and eventually he’d lapsed into a silence that felt endless. Just like his life.
This wasn’t the first time he’d been alone, but the twenty torturous years he’d spent as a prisoner and science experiment paled in comparison. This went on and on, a infinite circle of mindless existence that was enough to drive a person mad, and he very well could have been mad at this point. It was difficult to say for sure.
Crazy or not, he kept moving, clinging to the way things used to be because it was all he could do. In those early years, after he’d watched his family die one by one, he’d thought his turn had to be near. Thought death was lurking around some not yet turned corner, just waiting for him. He’d outlived them, though. All of them. Then he was alone, and he’d thought, Soon. Soon it will be my turn. But years went by, and still he lived. On and on and on. Nothing changed but the world around him as he moved from one group of survivors to the next, working with them while he waited for fate to finally catch up. It never had. Then they were gone, too, and he was alone. Really, truly alone for the first time in his entire miserable existence.
Now, he had thought, now my turn will come.
But still, it hadn’t.
That was when he’d accepted the truth. They’d done something to him in that hellhole. Something that had changed him. What, he couldn’t say. He’d barely graduated high school and had no real medical knowledge. Plus, he was fairly certain the things they’d done had been less about medicine and more to do with science. That was what he’d been after all. A science experiment. A Frankenstein. A thing to be used and used and used, then discarded when it no longer amused the people in charge. Thank God he’d gotten out of there before that happened.
The soles of his shoes scraped against the ground as he trudged on, echoing through the air. He was used to the sound, but it still seemed loud amidst the silence. Tree branches clicked overhead, dead leaves rustled as they blew across the fissured pavement that had once been a highway, birds occasionally dared to belt out a note, and his feet scraped. Those were the only sounds left. At least for now.
Gotta find me a place to hole up, he thought as he lifted his head.
In front of him, what was left of the road rose in an incline, climbing a hill that blotted out nearly all that was left of the sun. Only a sliver of the bright, orange ball was still visible, and beyond it the sky was a canvas of beauty. Red and orange and yellow mingling together with blues and purples to create a breathtaking end to the day, but he hardly noticed. He’d seen more sunsets than he cared to admit, and these days they only meant one thing. Time to hide.
The day had gotten away from him. He hadn’t been paying close enough attention and he now found himself in the middle of nowhere, which was the last place he wanted to be at dusk. He was surrounded by forest. Trees that towered over him, plants that had broken through cracks in the pavement and thrived in the absence of men to trample them. The rusted skeletons of cars overgrown with foliage, their doors gaping to reveal interiors that had long ago been destroyed by animals or nature or both. No place to take cover. Nowhere that would conceal him for the night.
He moved faster, ignoring the ache in his legs that screamed in protest each time he lifted his leg. The hill was bigger than he’d anticipated, and he was gasping for breath by the time he was halfway to the top. It had been decades since he’d smoked, but like always, he cursed himself for so carelessly abusing his body when he was young. It was one of the many, many things he would change if he could go back. Of course, he’d had no way of knowing what the future held for him. How could he?
He finally made it to the top of the hill and paused to both catch his breath and to get a look around. A city loomed in the distance, empty and quiet and dark just like every other part of this world. Most of the buildings were crumbling. Their windows broken or missing completely, their exteriors beaten beneath the vines snaking up the walls. The buildings were shells of what they had once been. Shadows of a life forgotten by everyone but him.
It would have to do, though, because he was running out of daylight. In the time it had taken him to climb the hill, the sun had sunk even lower and was now on the verge of being completely swallowed by the horizon. Above him, the sky had darkened to indigo, and blackness would follow quickly on its heels. He needed to move.
His eyes darted around as he rushed forward, one hand clinging to the strap of his backpack and the other resting on the hilt of his knife. He would be okay as long as there was light, but that would change the second it was gone. Night brought horrors even the big shots that used to live in Hollywood hadn’t dared dream up, and while he’d survived more than his fair share of abuse at the hands of those damned creatures—and he had the scars to prove it—he wasn’t anxious to face off with them again. He was too damn old for that shit.
The closer he got to the city, the more ruins became visible. From far away he hadn’t been able to distinguish the remnants of the smaller buildings. They were too covered by weeds, too overgrown with ivy. Now, though, he could see the remains of houses that had long ago crumbled to nothing. What was left of a chimney jutting from a bed of green, half a wall poking from between bushes, a door that seemed to stand on its own and was covered in leafy vines and dotted with white flowers. The farther into the city he got, the more buildings remained, but the first few he came to didn’t look stable enough to take shelter in.
Hidden debris crunched under his feet as he moved, occasionally making him stumble. He didn’t take his eyes off the world in front of him, though. Only a little daylight remained, and he needed to stay alert. Needed to find a place he could hole up, a room he could barricade himself in for the night.
Only a purple glow still lingered on the horizon when he finally found a building that would do. It had been a doctor’s office at one time, although the name of the physician had faded or chipped off years ago. The front window was gone, but at some point, someone must have taken shelter here, because it had been replaced by a piece of plywood. The wood was rotten and crumbling in places now, but when he stepped into the building, he found that nearly all the rooms still had doors. A good sign.
He moved slowly, carefully, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness and ignoring the thudding of his heart as he inspected the interior. There were none of the telltale signs that anything nefarious lived in the building. No scat on the ground, and while the air was thick with dust and mold, tickling his nostrils when he inhaled, the sickly-sweet smell that followed the things was absent. Good.
Certain he was alone, he moved deeper into the building. It was full-dark outside now, making visibility impossible, but he was well enough acquainted with this world to be able to find a good place. It was small—had probably once been an office—and it only took him a few seconds of feeling around to locate a large piece of furniture. A desk. In seconds he had the door shut and was pushing the desk across the room. The floor was littered with items he couldn’t see, making the task difficult, and the metal was rusty and rough against his palms, but he managed. The thud of it hitting the door made his heart jump and he paused, counting silently as he listened. As long as none of them were close he would be okay, but if one of them happened to be nearby and heard the sound, he might be in trouble. It had happened before, although not for a long time. He was so careful now. So used to concealing himself.
When thirty seconds passed and nothing came running, he allowed himself to let out a long breath. He was safe. He would make it through another night.
He lowered himself to the floor and stretched out his arms, feeling around so he could acclimate himself with his surroundings. His fingertips brushed items he could easily identify—empty plastic and glass jars, books, a shoe—and others he couldn’t put a name to before he finally found what he’d been hoping for. A mattress. Damp and musty from age, it gave when he knelt on it, but despite the puff of dust that floated into the air when he allowed himself to sink down, it was still soft.
He closed his eyes.
One more day down. One more day closer to the end. He prayed it came soon, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this. Wasn’t sure how much longer he could cling to the promise he’d made.
One more day, he silently prayed. Just one more day, Lord. Then you hafta bring me home.
He wasn’t even sure if he believed in God or heaven, but he knew one thing for certain. Hell did exist. He knew because he was living it.
He was just dozing off when the distant howl cut through the silence. Another followed only seconds later, and then another, and then there was a chorus of them. It was a sound that used to make the hair on his arms stand on end. Used to cause goosebumps of dread to rise on his skin. Now, though, he was used to it. It was a war cry. It announced the hunt was on—not that there was much left to hunt these days. As long as he was quiet, he knew he would be safe. At least from them. Not from the dreams, though. Never from the dreams.
***
It was only a smile this time, and a ghost of one at that. He was asleep. He knew he was because he always knew, because when he was awake, he was always alone. Only in his dreams did he have company, but it was never the good kind because it hurt. It hurt like his heart was being ripped out, like his insides were being shredded, like he was being gutted over and over again. Even something as small as this smile threatened to break him because he knew it would be over too soon. Knew it wasn’t real.
He tried to reach for it, tried to draw more of the memory from his brain so he could see more, so he could experience more, but no matter what he did, it remained nothing but a smile. Soft lips turned up because of something he’d said or done. Even in his sleep his heart ached at the memory and at the realization that he’d never again experience anything like that. Even worse was the knowledge that he’d wasted years pushing people away, pissing them off, making them hate him. How many smiles had he missed out on because he’d been a miserable piece of shit of a person? He couldn’t stand thinking about it.
The lips began to fade, began to melt into the darkness surrounding them, and desperately he tried to grab them and pull them closer, to keep them around for just a little bit longer. It didn’t work, and too soon they were gone, leaving him alone in his misery once again. He groaned and shifted, slowly resurfacing from his dream to find his cheeks wet with tears. He didn’t bother wiping them away. He was used to it by now. There had been a time, another life it felt like, when he would have cursed himself for what he’d thought was his weakness, but not anymore. Now he understood all too clearly the beauty of human emotion. It was something he would never again take for granted.
He opened his eyes to darkness, but instinctively knew morning had come. The silence that accompanied dusk was gone and the rodents and other animals had come out of hiding. Their scurrying feet scraped against the floor as they scrambled around in other parts of the building, and probably even inside the walls of the very room he was lying in. They were hurrying about their daily tasks, knowing that all too soon darkness would return, and they would once again have to hunker down in silence. Just like he would.
He pushed himself up and felt around, locating his bag after only a few seconds. Barely thinking about what he was doing, he opened it and pulled out the bundle of berries he’d found the day before and popped a few into his mouth. They were soft and overly ripe, but sweet when he sank his teeth into them—on the verge of going bad. They were a luxury he rarely got these days and something he didn’t want to waste, so he popped the remaining few into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the tart sweetness when they exploded in his mouth.
Food wasn’t easy to come by and he was never full, but despite the gnawing feeling in his stomach that never seemed to go away, he’d discovered that he literally could not starve to death. Couldn’t die of dehydration, either. Yet another thing those bastards had changed about him. To some it might have sounded like an advantage, especially in a world where you were never sure where your next meal was going to come from or when it would arrive, but he’d long ago learned that nothing about his life was a blessing. He was cursed. That was an irrefutable fact.
Once he’d finished his berries, he gulped down the little bit of water he had left. He would have to find more today. No, his body didn’t need it to live, but it did need it to feel comfortable, and there were so few comforts left in this world. This was one he refused to give up.
Empty bottle now back in his bag, he hauled himself to his feet and moved across the room, his hand out in front of him. After only two steps, his fingertips brushed the cool surface of the desk. It was grimy to the touch and the metal legs rough against his palms when he gripped them, dragging. Once the desk was far enough away from the door, he pulled it open, and a scurry of feet followed as the rodents that had been scavenging rushed for cover.
Like he’d thought, the sun was up, allowing him to see the building he’d spent the night in clearly for the first time. It was no different than any other place he’d been recently. A thick layer of dust covered every surface and cobwebs—both old and new—crowded the corners. Animal droppings dotted the floor in places and black mold grew up the walls. Still, it was obvious that at some point people had taken refuge in this building—although a lot of time had passed. The furniture that had distinguished it as an office was pushed against one wall and a few mattresses were set up. The bedding was strewn about and the pillows chewed by over-eager rodents, but they remained. Their insides pulled out, their carcasses hanging open as if to illustrate just how impossible it was to find even the smallest comfort in this world.
He sighed and turned away, heading to the front of the building. Sunlight streamed in through the holes in the board covering the broken window and the wide-open front door. He froze at the sight. Had he shut it? It seemed unlikely that he’d leave a door hanging open, but he’d been in a hurry and exhausted, and he couldn’t remember for sure if he’d pulled it shut behind him.
Still not moving, he scanned the room, paying special attention to the floor. The carpet was dark green and spotted with stains. He didn’t know if it was the original color or if it was growing something, and he didn’t care because his focus was on something else.
Scat. And it was fresh.
He had his knife out in a flash and was looking around for any signs that the creature who’d left the stuff was still in the building. They didn’t venture out during the day, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t attack if you stumbled upon their resting spot. They would, which was something he’d learned the hard way.
The room was too bright to be a good place for one of the creatures to stay, and there were scratches beside the door. Long scrapes on the wall, cutting into the rotting wood as if one of them had raked its nails across it on the way out. It must have only come into the building to search for prey and relieve itself.
Not for the first time, he was thankful he didn’t talk in his sleep.
He slid the knife back into its sheath as he started walking again. Just before he stepped outside, his gaze moved back to the pile of scat. A shudder moved down his spine when he thought about how close the thing had been. He’d been lucky lately. He hadn’t seen one of the bastards in a long time. Months, maybe a year. Not that he kept track of the days anymore. He just knew he’d managed to avoid them and that was enough.
The sun was barely up and low in the sky, but still bright, and he squinted when he stepped outside. Lifting his hand to shield his eyes, he scanned the surrounding area. The day was alive with activity and the birds that had quieted down last night as dusk set in now sang to their hearts’ content. He spotted a few perched on top of a nearby building, as well as one pecking at the ground, but most were out of sight. A white bird tilted its head when he started walking, its black eyes following his progress like the animal had never seen anything like him. It probably hadn’t. He didn’t know how long birds lived, but this one had definitely been born into a world nearly devoid of humans.
He began walking just like he did every morning. Without purpose, without a clue where he was going or what he was expecting to happen. He wasn’t even sure why he did it. There was nowhere to go. No more settlements. No more survivors hanging on for dear life. It was just him. Alone. Always alone. And that was how it would stay.
A few times he’d considered finding a place to call home, but the longest he’d managed to stay in one location had been three days. That had been all he could stand. It had given him too much time to think. Too much time to reflect on the past and the memories he’d lost, as well as the ones he couldn’t shake. So, he’d walked. He’d walked all day, every day, getting up as soon as the sun rose and settling in as it went down. In the beginning, the walking had caused blisters on his feet that throbbed until they popped, but still he’d walked. Eventually, though, his body had gotten used to the action, and now the soles of his feet were rough and calloused. Now his muscles didn’t ache until night began to set in, almost as if the incoming darkness gave them permission to complain.
This morning the sky was clear but the air chilly. It was fall and he was way up north—although where he didn’t exactly know—but he was heading south. It was his normal migration. North in summer, south in winter. He’d made it all the way to the Florida Keys once, although he hadn’t realized he’d been headed there until he’d reached it. Most road signs were gone, and license plates were as rusted as the cars they were mounted on. Nature had taken everything back, claiming the Earth as its own once more, and landmarks were almost impossible to find.
There were exceptions, of course. He’d once come upon the Grand Canyon—had even spent a few days hiking the area before getting bored and moving on. The Statue of Liberty was still standing, too. Or at least it had been the last time he’d made his way up to New York, although that had been nearly a decade ago now. He’d gone there hoping to find civilization of some kind but had found nothing but a crumbling city that was now only inhabited by ghosts and demons. He’d gotten out of there fast.
The memory made him walk quicker and look over his shoulder even though he knew none of them would be out right now. They didn’t like the sun. It was their pale skin or hairless bodies or something else, he didn’t know. He just knew they didn’t come out when it was sunny. Ever.
She was standing in front of him when he once again looked forward. In the middle of the street. Staring at him with big, brown eyes. It was the eyes that made him freeze. They reminded him of another pair of eyes. Eyes he hadn’t been able to picture clearly in a long, long time. Eyes that made his knees tremble and nearly give out.
He blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. She didn’t disappear and she didn’t move. She was young, twelve or maybe thirteen. He’d never been a very good judge of age when it came to children and a long time had gone by since he’d seen one, so he wasn’t sure. He just knew she was in front of him and she was real.
She was alive.
He stepped forward and her back stiffened. She pulled a knife that was nearly as long as her forearm, holding it in front of her in a steady grip.
“Stay back.”
He lifted his hands as if trying to let her know he wasn’t a threat but said nothing. Had he forgotten how to speak? Perhaps. Anything was possible. His life was proof of that.
The girl narrowed her dark eyes on him and shoved a mass of black hair out of her face. Her skin was brown and shockingly clean considering the hell they were living in, but her clothes were as tattered as his. Pants that were too big for her small frame were held on by a leather belt, and while the legs had been cut to fit her, they were uneven and frayed, and there were holes in both knees. Her jacket, which was olive green, was dirty and too thin for the weather—although miraculously intact—but her boots, at least, looked sturdy enough. She looked sturdy, too, which was more than miraculous. It was downright dumbfounding.
When he didn’t say anything, the girl frowned. “Who are you?”
He swallowed as he prepared to respond. The idea of speaking out loud after all this time was both exhilarating and terrifying. He couldn’t even remember what his voice sounded like—that was how long it had been—and the sound of it in his own ears made him jump.
“I ain’t one of them.”
His voice was gravelly and scratched his throat on the way out, as if it had turned wild from disuse. Had grown fangs and claws and wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out as punishment for locking it away for so long.
She swallowed, and like him, seemed unsure of what to do next.
“I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said, lifting his hands higher. “It’s been a long time since I seen ‘nother person and I ain’t ‘bout to do nothin’ to scare you off.”
She tilted her head like she was studying him, trying to decide what to say or do or if she trusted him. He kept his hands up, waiting. His heartrate had increased at the sight of her, and with each passing second, it seemed to pound harder. He’d been alone for so long, and even though she was just a child, he couldn’t keep the excitement at being in the presence of another person at bay. He could talk again. He could feel human again. Maybe, just maybe, he might be able to shake her hand and once again experience the warmth of another person’s skin against his.
After an extended period of silence, the girl finally lowered her knife. “I need help.”
He looked her over, frowning. “You hurt?”
She shook her head, sending her dark, knotted hair fluttering. It got caught on the wind, lifted around her face like it was trying to take flight, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“My mom. My mom is hurt.”
Mom? She wasn’t alone. He should have automatically assumed that, she was too young to be by herself, but he’d been too shocked to see her to think that far ahead. Was it just her and her mother, or were there others? Was he about to find the one thing he was certain had gone extinct? People.
“Your mama’s hurt?” he asked.
“That’s what I said,” the girl snapped.
She had spunk.
He felt his lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, but they didn’t turn up. It was almost like they’d forgotten how to make the gesture.
“I ain’t gonna promise I can work miracles,” he said, “but I can take a look at her. I’ve had more than my fair share of scrapes.”
He waved to the scar on the left side of his neck. There were others, dozens of them, but this was one of the only ones currently visible. The girl’s eyes narrowed on it, but if she was shocked by the sight, she didn’t let on. Maybe she couldn’t make its shape out from where she stood. There was a good ten feet of space between them and the scar was old, it had to have faded by now. Still, he knew she would be surprised once she realized what it was. Everyone was—or had been before they’d all disappeared. Very few people could walk away from a bite.
“She’s this way,” the girl said, turning her back and waving for him to follow.
“What’s your name?” he called as he jogged after her, suddenly feeling more exhilarated than he had for decades.
“Naya.”
She glanced over her shoulder as she walked, her gaze meeting his, and for the second time, the sight of her brown eyes nearly knocked the wind out of him. Suddenly he could picture her perfectly, only not as she’d been that last day, but how she’d looked when they’d first met. Small and scared and so very young. Beautiful, too, although he’d been too much of a fool and a prick to admit it back then. God, how he missed her. How he missed them all.
“What about you?” Naya asked, jolting him back to the present.
He cleared his throat, trying to push his emotions down even though he wasn’t ashamed of the tears threatening to break out.
“Name’s Angus,” he said.
Naya’s head bobbed once, but she was already looking ahead when she replied, “Nice to meet you, Angus.”
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