My home was a modern, two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a building in central Melbourne. I’d lived here for a decade—long before the pandemic raged through—and although my new life had been comfortable enough, my food supplies were dwindling and my options for finding more were risky in a city overrun with dangerous humans and the dead.
The rational side of me knew it was time to leave the place I’d called home since I was eighteen, but one emotional factor stopped me from taking that step; my eighty-year-old neighbour, Haruto. I’d convinced him to move in with me back when production shut down and it became obvious life wouldn’t be returning to normal. The rest of his family lived in Japan, he had no children to care for him, and his wife died from the airborne virus at a time when dying meant being gone for good.
As far as I knew, Haruto and I were the only two people living in the building, but the dead still roamed the halls, bumping into doors and moaning throughout the day and night. I could have cleared them from this level and freed us from the sounds and smells, but I saw them as the equivalent of having guard dogs protecting us from fellow humans. Haruto agreed.
When society first showed signs of becoming a slow-moving car crash, I bought brackets and wide slabs of timber to reinforce my door. Each piece of wood could be slid free in an emergency, but we hadn’t needed to use it since Haruto came to live with me. Whenever I left, I went out through the balcony, climbed down the rope ladder I’d secured to the room below, then slipped in throughthatdoor and out into the cleared hallway.
After that, it was a straight run down the fire stairs to access the streets and try to remain invisible until I returned home.
The process probably seemed a little over the top, but the second I left the safety of my apartment, every movement required thought and care. Being a woman alone in this world made me hyper-aware of my vulnerability, and I couldn't risk leaving Haruto alone to fend for himself. Luckily for both of us, he seemed content with only hearing about my adventures rather than experiencing the outside world himself.
“I’ll be back at the usual time,” I told him as I sheathed my tanto, the short sword he’d gifted me that his father had passed down to him. "I'll see if I can rustle up some painkillers while I'm gone. Is there anything else you want me to look out for?"
Since the beginning, I'd given myself a two-hour limit outside each morning, mainly so Haruto would know something had gone wrong if I didn't return within that time. We had no technology for communication, and spending longer away from home felt like I was tempting fate. I'd created a safe little space for myself here, and I wanted to keep it that way until the time came for me to leave for good.
Haruto smiled from his recliner chair without acknowledging the mention of pain relief. His eyes were tired, his skin pale, but he continued putting on a cheerful front for my sake. “No. Nothing. Be safe, little ninja.”
He hadn’t been well throughout the spring and summer, and his condition had only worsened as we headed into the cooler months of autumn. I didn’t have a background in medicine, but my grandmother had died of cancer years ago, and I recognized the signs. Haruto never complained about being in pain or discussed his symptoms at all, but lately, I’d catch a wince when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and he’d become more careful about how he moved, limiting the number of times he walked around the apartment.
“I’ll be careful. See you soon.” I returned his smile before I ducked out through the sliding door and closed it quietly behind me. Just before seven a.m., right on schedule.
Whenever I left home, I pushed aside my concern for him and focused on my surroundings. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have needed to leave him at all, but if I stopped forcing myself outside each day, it wouldn’t take long for me to become mentally and physically weak, and there wasn’t much room for softness anymore.
I stood on the balcony as cool air swirled around me and the rising sun threw the city skyline into silhouette. A row of multi-level office buildings sat opposite my home, an older one situated between two newer complexes that were finished not long before the pandemic began. They used to be all polished steel and gleaming, mirrored glass, but they were starting to take on the same tired, neglected look as every other building.
My gaze swept over the litter scattered across the ground like colourful tumbleweeds, and the abandoned cars left at the curbside or right in the middle of the road. Some of them had been set on fire long ago and were now burnt-out carcasses, and the rest were covered in dust but otherwise undamaged. Weeds grew in places I'd never seen greenery before, and sometimes I'd spot a stray cat darting around or—the thought made me shiver—a disgusting rat.
Funny how the streets could look chaotic and deserted at the same time.
A movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I glanced to the left to see three of the dead shuffling away from me, heading toward Douglas Street where more of them would be roaming. I heard no noises other than the distant moans from a bigger group of the infected, playing like a permanent soundtrack in the movie that had become my life. If I had to liken the sound to anything, it reminded me of the time I’d found my mum sitting in the kitchen with her forehead resting on the table, questioning her life choices after a big night on the margaritas. She'd let loose a long, low moan that sounded inhuman at the time, only herproblem had been cured with a greasy burger and fries.
Seeing nothing of concern this morning, I adjusted the strap on my backpack and braced myself for another deep dive into reality. After a thorough scan of the area, I lowered the rope ladder and climbed to the balcony below mine, looking at each rung to make sure I didn't slip. Once my feet were on solid ground again, I used the attached string to hoist the ladder back to its original position, then secured the string and turned to check that no one had seen my climb.
Whenever I was coming or going from home, humans were my biggest concern. If anyone stumbled onto where I lived, they’d come for the supplies they assumed I had, and I’d be forced to defend the one place where I still felt relatively safe. I hadn’t been put in a position where I needed to injure any fellow humans yet, and I hoped to make it through the rest of my days without discovering what that felt like.
Jamming my knife into an already dead person? I'd long since come to terms with that.
From my vantage point, everything appeared to be in order… but just as I prepared to reach for the sliding door behind me, another movement registered.
My heart gave a hard thud, and I stood frozen on the spot.
The living were easy to differentiate from the dead. Humans moved faster, were more agile and graceful. The dead operated like those old Atari games my dad used to show me when I was little, limited in their abilities and reduced to basic forward-backward motions. They couldn’t speak or understand words. They were unable to climb and lacked the brain power or fine motor movements to open doors. Their only focus was sinking their teeth into human flesh, and one bite never seemed to be enough.
My pulse raced, and I held my breath.
A man.
That on its own wasn’t surprising.
A large gang roamed the area, and although I’d avoided them so far, I’d seen them in action enough that I’d never been tempted to speak to any of them in person. They barrelled through the streets as if the city belonged to them, sometimes in convoys of five or more cars, other times just one or two. The energy surrounding them came off as threatening and intimidating every time, and I'd never seen any women with them. Seriously,wherewere the women? For a lone person like me, it was best to keep far away.
As the song goes,one of these things is not like the others. Where the gang members were loud and obnoxious, this man was quiet and careful.
He was also alone.
On foot.
The tiny hairs on my forearms rose as I kept quiet and watched him from the safety of the balcony. He'd emerged from the office building directly opposite mine as if he'd spent the night there.
