This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

13. And We All Fall Down

Now that Ana and I had quit the whole sneaking-around-ordeal—only because I had a mental breakdown, really—we were catching quite a few more eyes.

People, still mostly invisible, were openly staring, a twisted sort curiosity visible in their stances, in their cocked heads, in their pointed fingers and whispered words. Some would peer out of windows, others stepping out of buildings, only to be shrouded in shadows. Still, I couldn't really see them—see what they were like, how they looked, how they were coping with this demolished city. They were just figures that were wondering about two newcomers, like they could not fathom why anyone would want to come here.

Ana grabbed my wrist delicately, tugging me around a corner and onto a sidewalk. "We're almost there," she told me, eyes never straying from the cracked sidewalk under her scuffed tennis shoes.

"Almost where?" I asked absentmindedly. My eyes were trained to the concrete, too, counting the cracks, not stepping on them in case I broke my momma's back. That is, if she was even alive.

Ana released my wrist, letting it swing back to my side lifelessly. She blew out a deep breath, the air billowing up and lifting broken, thin strands off of her forehead. "A place," she finally replied. Vague, as always.

I clenched my fist, unclenched, not knowing if I should get angry like I normally would with Ana; if I should feel anything at all except for this echoey hollowness in my chest. "We're at a place," I pointed out. Maybe it was a joke. I wasn't sure.

I thought Ana rolled her eyes, but I couldn't be sure because mine were still stuck to the ground as if it were the most interesting thing to ever be. "A more specific place, then. A hospital, if you really want to know."

Nodding, I started walking again, telling myself to stop focusing on something I wasn't even positive about. I mean—my old home was deserted. Okay then. My old neighborhood was probably empty of anything alive. Whatever. My parents most likely moved before Death arrived.

Everyone else was probably dead. Like Charles. Not so great.

Stupid brain! I mentally scolded. Do you want to be depressed?

It didn't say anything in return; only sent an image of Charles' parents—practically family—screaming in terror as they were paralyzed by Death's eyes. As they were dissolved and sucked up and left dead in Death's gut. Like their son.

I squashed the picture and tuned in to Ana. Because Ana was definitely alive. Maybe not exactly living. But alive. Breathing. Walking. Existing. Sort of like me.

To keep the conversation that wasn't really a conversation going, I asked, "There's a hospital here?"

Ana twisted around a bit, sending a medium level form of the Look my way. "Yes," she hissed, like my question personally offended her. "Actually, if you want me to be even more specific, this hospital that we are going to visit is the one that I died in."

Maybe it did personally offend her.

"But we're days away—" I began.

Ana cut me off. "We walked, moron. In normal conditions, people tend to drive." She scoffed and rolled her eyes, as if she was so much better than me.

Ana probably was, in her mind, with that inflated, know-it-all ego of hers.

We passed by a filthy pickup truck, empty except for a pair of those fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. The seats and steering wheel had been ripped out; the front right wheel was popped, sagging into a massive pothole; the front left was missing. Eyeing the wreck, with its rust stains and cracked mirrors, I heard Ana mumble to herself, "Just around here..."