Kate
Idrive with the headlights off, weaving around the deserted cars left in the crater-pocked streets. The city looks lost, frozen in some deathly rotting scene. I wipe my eyes before any tears come out. I don’t want the monster next to me to see me cry.
I haven’t been this far from the apartment in weeks. We locked ourselves inside and have eaten as little as we could, too afraid to venture out. Claire had gotten sick quickly, just like the rest of them, but she still lingered, suffering that wet, hacking cough and awful decomposing of her body.
The thing next to me is silent, looking through the windshield and scanning the streets as we slowly drive along. I’m glad he’s not talking. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. He’s one of the things that ruined this city—yet he just helped me escape from three of them.
After fifteen minutes, we run out of gas.
“Why are you stopping?” he growls, slamming his hands against the dashboard and whirling around in his seat.
“I’mnot stopping. The van is.”
His eyes narrow. “Explain.”
“No,” I say, yanking open the door and climbing into the street. I search the area for anyone and come up empty. It’s like the whole city just disappeared. “Listen to me,” I say through the opening of the door. “I need to know where they took that girl. She’s my sister.”
He slams his body against the door, trying to open it. His eyes stay fixed on mine as he shatters the rest of the window with his elbow and tries to climb his way out, but he’s too big to fit through.
“You have to pull the handle, Einstein.”What a moron.
His head snaps down to the side of the door and his hands paw at the metal handle.
“Yeah, that. Now pull it,” I say, stepping back and quietly closing the door behind me.
By the time I walk around the van, his metal boots are kicking wildly against the inside of the door, trying to force it open.
I’m not going to lie—I watch for a minute, because it’s one of the most absurd things I’ve ever seen—then I open it for him and roll my eyes.
He falls to his knees attempting to get out.
I laugh, then stop immediately when I think about Claire. Nothing about this is funny.
The gash on his forehead is bright red and open. His hands flail out, steadying himself, metal arms colliding with the van. “Give me the faceplate,” he growls, leaning heavily on the door for support.
“Get me to my sister and you get it back.” I keep my eyes locked with his, fiercely. He better understand I’m serious. And absolutely desperate.
He stumbles forward and holds a hand up to his head. His fingers tremble when he brings his arm down covered with blood.
He actually looks terrified.
A sharp explosion rocks the pavement. I grab the van to hold myself upright. “Sounds like there’s something going on underground.”
His eyes are still studying the crimson tips of his fingers and his skin is blanched white.
“Come on,” I say, grabbing his bloody hand and pulling him toward the sidewalk. We’re on Broadway now, just above Houston Street. It’s hard to recognize it without the street signs. Here, those strange vines are growing straight up the sides of the buildings, and beneath their exotic greenery, deep craters and decaying brick crumble like dust to the ground. It’s less than a mile from where I last saw my father or Claire. There’s a small restaurant I remember somewhere here that my parents used to take us to. It had a garden in the back with a small fountain. I wonder if it’s still standing.
I drag him into a darkened store. Shards of glittery glass shift under our feet. It’s a furniture store. I sit him on a couch and wad up some tissues I had jammed in my pack earlier today. I don’t think twice that Claire used one to blow her nose. He’s lucky to be getting any help from me. I get a little thrill thinking that whatever germ Claire has is now infesting his bloodstream.
There was a time in my life I would have showed empathy for someone who was hurt. That time is long gone now.
My steps falter as I back away from him. It’s dark in here, but my flashlight is giving us a good view of each other. “Where are you from?” I ask, swallowing slowly. “Are you from another country or someplace…farther?”
His eyes look up and focus on mine. There’s a hesitation as he watches me. It’s long enough that I wonder if he could possibly read my mind; but that’s nonsense, impossible. His eyes suddenly drop down to my neck and slowly roll down the rest of my body. I don’t know what he’s seeing, but it makes my face too warm.
I throw the rest of the tissues at him. They lob him right in the nose and fall to the floor. “Stop looking at me like that. Are you some sort of a terrorist? Are you from another country? What the hell are you wearing? Whatareyou? Where are you from? And where did they take Claire?”
A wet strand of dark hair falls across his forehead. I shine my light into his eyes—the blue is extraordinarily bright—his pupils constrict to barely visible pinpoints. Our eyes are locked on each other’s, and it’s terrifying to think I’m staring down the enemy, but I can’t bring myself to do anything less.
“Answer me,” I whisper.
“Farther.” His low answer chills the marrow in my bones and my body feels suddenly numb. My hands tremble and my flashlight tumbles to the floor. It clinks over the tile and rolls flashing light across the room.
My chest burns and I clear my throat to buy myself a moment. “Why are you here?”
Gears shifts along his skin as he bends to pick up the light. I can hear them whirring and vibrating quietly. He clicks the flashlight off and we’re bathed in darkness. Metal boots scrape softly over the floor as he moves away, deeper into the darkness of the store. “A better question ishowareyoustill here?”
