When the World Goes Cold

Chapter 7

Eighty tons of metal laid across the gap, a splinter in the web of tangled, rotted brown spindles lined with barbs. Corrugated gray slates towered only half as high as the fence spread, door frames exposing the torn out insides to anyone who wanted to look.

Halfway across the bloody city for a dead-end.

Atlas was flushed and sweat clung to the edges of their face.

"What about the interstate? If there's an underpass—"

"Military already blocked those off."

"If you boost me onto the trailer, I could, um..." They broke at my glare, weak attempts to keep talking nothing more than a bunch of stuttering that they didn't look like even they understood.I stuffed my hands in my pockets. Trees climbed up behind the warehouses, all the way up to a familiar patch that made my skin burn. The body had been recent. Orphans might've been, and probably were, right in the city.

Pacing brought no relief to me. How could it, when it didn't get me any farther?

Moving figures. Could've been revenants, could've been an animal, or them.

"Let's just get away from here."

Gravel scattered as Atlas shuffled after me.

"You really don't think there's another way?"

"No." I slowly let out a breath, trying to keep it stable to make the world stop spinning around me. "No, not after all this time. There might be some part of the perimeter that's torn up, but it'll take days to check every inch."

We fell into a silence for the rest of the walk, my heart thudding so loud I heard it echo in my ears. Surely, it was bouncing off the empty city, pointing everyone right to where we stood.

Clouds punctured the sky, easing the biting wind to a breeze that just grazed my cheeks instead of cut into them. If they were behind, then our steps wouldn't travel back. But if they were ahead, well—no, we would've heard the fighting, we were close enough to the mall. Or the screams, if they already won.

"Do you think we could get through one of these buildings?" They pointed to a east-facing building. Spray-painted wood was piled over the left-hand door, while the other door, a entrance to a storefront, had been unmarked and secured with plywood that spread to the windows.

That was it.

"Hand me your crowbar."

They didn't ask anything out loud, just gave me a once-over before handing it over.Planks cracked with the first swing, shattered with the second.

I placed it against the wall and pried at the chunks left, ripping until my hands were filled splinters and the gap was wide enough to climb through.