The Last City (Wattpad Books Edition)

ONE-SAM

The apocalypse only sucks if you let it.

"Teenage Wasteland" blasted out the speakers of the mall, shaking the ceiling so hard dust fell free. Late afternoon sun shone through the shattered skylights as I tilted my head back and laughed, then screamed for the hell of it.

I did it. Holy shit, I did it.

Real music shook the world for the first time in four years.

It was like the moment I'd kissed Cecelia Rose in fifth grade: the rush, the racing high, the world infinite. Like the last few years were over and the old world was back—teenage wasteland and all.

Instead of white-eyed, vicious, plague-infected animals roaming the halls below, there were small yappy dogs held by women with disapproving glares. In place of the gaggle of geese down in the food court, there was a group of teenage girls—giggling, eating fries, and laughing over some shared video on their phones. The floors were shiny white once again, freshly waxed, reflecting faces too busy to stop and admire them. My biggest concern wasn't if I could survive the winter, or if I'd have to kill the next person I saw. It was if I could muster up the courage to talk to a girl.

The music pounded, and the geese below finally decided they'd had enough, shattering the illusion when they flew by my small window overlooking the longest stretch of the mall. The birds were fat after a long summer—they'd be two days' worth of food, easy—but even with the perfect shot, I didn't reach for my bow. Instead, the ancient leather seat squeaked as I leaned back, placed both my feet atop the mountain of manuals, and sang along.

Four weeks of tinkering and scavenging parts. One expedition up to the solar panels on the roof, where I'd nearly fallen and broken my neck. Countless hours repairing wires, but now it was all worth it. I'd brought music back to our world.

I was musical Gandhi. Or rock 'n' roll Jesus.

My brother, Kaden, would have told me I was wasting time. Ara would have teased me—or told me the song was actually called "Baba O'Riley," as if that mattered anymore. Gabriel would have gone off on some rant about how we needed to prepare for winter and reassigned me to something more "productive." But there were no more clan rules.

Just Sam, the man with the plan.

If I wanted to spend the summer reconnecting the power supply to the music system in the mall, then I damn well would.

An outdated stereo system sat behind me in the small booth-like room. Before me lay a glass window with an impressive view of the mall below. I imagined before the plague a security guard must have reclined here with a cup of coffee in one hand, donut in the other, and watched the crowds below. Now the only crowds were the occasional herds of deer and the thirty-four mannequins someone had moved out of stores and into the empty hallways. I wasn't sure how it had happened; one night I'd left and the next they'd all been standing there. Still, the company was nice. I'd even named one Colborn, and used him for target practice before I wondered if naming mannequins was the first sign of losing it.

There'd been no sign of Kaden or Ara since I'd woken up three months ago in an underground bunker, barely remembering my own name, only to walk into a lawless city where the central beacon for hope, the Castellano clan, had burned to the ground. Summer was fading away, winter approaching. I'd only had Kaden's leftovers stores, most of which we'd hidden in this mall, to get me through it.

Which was why I'd a) located Kaden's favorite CD in Barnes & Noble b) decided on a new hideout, considering the smoldering state of the clan, and c) spent half the summer repairing cords chewed through by rodents, in order to d) finally hear glorious music pounding out of the mall speakers. Only someone truly awesome would hear this song and risk lawless men, infected animals, and warring clans to come to it. The music was a siren call for awesomeness, and I was the herald. Waiting. Listening. Rocking.