This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

12. Breaking News: The World Really Sucks

The next day, somewhere around noon, we made it to our destination.

A city. A live one. With cars and stores and people. So many people.

Now, that probably painted a lovely picture, which wasn't the case. Imagine the cars broken, rusted, overturned, some dead, some breathing dirty black exhaust into the air. The buildings had aged a century, crumbling, sagging, falling down to their knees and praying for the end. And the people... Well, I couldn't exactly see the people; more that I could sense them, catch the flickering shadows, spot the folded forms that crushed themselves into dark corners.

"What... what happened?"

Ana started, head snapping to face me. I didn't exactly blame her. They were the first words spoken since yesterday, and she probably thought I would be too stubborn to break the silence myself.

She cleared her throat. "I'm not positive," she told me, eyes scanning the area, like she was afraid to be attacked. "Come on."

I didn't even dare ask how Ana had come to find out about this place. I just followed, my gaze skimming over every detail. Not in fear—precaution.

Checking around every corner, keeping out of the sketchier sections, and grabbing a couple of shattered shards of glass for extra protection, Ana and I cautiously made our way through the city, each step crunching scattered debris and sounding louder than a gunshot. I winced every time I heard scrambling feet, knowing that there were people here that I could not see, who could easily attack.

I wanted to run.

It was cowardly, yes, but my first instinct. I ran; I ran for a year—another wouldn't be so bad, would it? The rest of my life?

Gritting my teeth, I told myself that, yes, it would be bad; no, I cannot run. Think of all the people who can't run—all those people who are dead because you ran, I chastised myself. It sent a scorching pang through my chest, but it did the job. I stayed. I didn't bolt off like a wimp. A coward.

Then, because I am the knight in shining armor whose bravery shines above all others and crap, I tripped. Flailing uselessly, I fell back, crashing through a window and onto a display of televisions. Glass showered down, slicing my skin, sprinkling on my lips as if the small shards were trying to cut me up from the inside, too. Plastic cases groaned then cracked, sending me down to the ground with an oof. As dust danced around me—sick-of-it-all me, just lying on the ground, completely through—settling down in waves, Ana giggled, snorted, and then she cracked up, falling over, clutching her sides, eyes watering.

"You—you look ridiculous!" she choked out, pointing at me, who was still down on the ground, dazed and frowning.

Shaking my head, still feeling put out, I grasped at the fractured plastic display cases and hoisted myself up. My weight sent another crack running down a case holding a rather large, old-fashioned television, and I slapped my hands on either side as it started to fall.

Then I flinched back as it started blaring the news channel.

Ana abruptly stopped her rambunctious laughter, eyes widening as the anchorman began relaying some international news about—well, there was only two choices—Life of all things. People all over the world—starving, sick, dying people, really—who were decidedly not dying flashed across the screen; in portions of the world, it seemed, the death rate had slowed down for the past year, and in other parts was now nonexistent. People, whose hearts had stopped beating long enough to be enough, were walking among the living, although they were dead inside. The news went on and on, a slideshow of people who had come to terms with Death and were ready but never actually died. Some found this a gift, a second chance (or third or fourth); others saw it as a curse, because the pain they felt, the aching and breaking and crushing of their bodies, minds, and souls, could not be put to rest.