Epilogue

Epilogue 2.02

---Em---

     In a lot of ways, Valynar—which is apparently this planet's name—reminds me of the place Gail and I spent six months. Minus the zombies, of course. Collapsed buildings and crumbling skyscrapers cluster around us like concrete trees, the windows either slicked with dust or curtained with moss. There's something unnerving about how empty the streets are; apart from dried up blood smeared across a windshield every now and then, no traces remain of there ever having been life here.

     "Where is everybody?" I ask as we climb over a twenty-car pile-up that stretches from sidewalk to sidewalk, blocking our way. Broken glass crunches beneath our shoes. I hop up onto the dented roof of an SUV and then give Gail a hand.

     "Underground, if they know what's best for 'em," says Ace, climbing up onto an overturned taxi. He speaks with an air of authority; he's clearly used to being in charge, even though he's no older than Comma. "It's almost curfew."

     "Curfew?" Comma scoffs. "Those demons really made you their bitches, didn't they?"

     "It's not about the demons," says Liluye—she's the ripper. Wears her black hair in a ponytail. Maybe a year or two older than I am. She points upward. Above us, a sole pterodactyl makes its rounds, occasionally blotting out the emerald sun with its massive wings.

     Crawford kicks in the windshield of a hatchback and arms himself with a shard of glass. I raise an eyebrow, and he gives a confident nod. Whatever helps him feel safe, I suppose.

     "They come in waves," says the hard-faced girl. Gisela, I think she said her name was. She's got a year or two on Ace. She's also got a pretty little nine-millimetre. Making me a bit jealous, to be honest; I miss that confidence that comes with knowing I can defend myself. I guess Crawford's glass shank makes sense in that light. "Three waves. At least. No one has survived more than three."

     "Waves?" Mya asks, leaping down from a sedan. 

     We continue on down the road now that we've cleared the pile-up. Past what used to be a convenience store. A bank. A burger joint.

     "First wave is pterodactyls," Gisela explains. "If you're lucky, they melt your face off with their acid saliva."

     "Been there, done that," says Crawford.

     "If you're not so lucky, they snatch you up and carry you off to their nest. It's anyone's guess what happens after that."

     Topher shudders. "What are the second and third waves?"

     "Best pray you never have to find out," says Ace. "Down here."

     We head down the entrance to a subway station. The silence here hits me particularly hard; part of me still expects to hear a busker strumming an acoustic guitar. Routine's a powerful thing. When we get to the turnstile, I instinctively go for my wallet. Gail giggles at my stupidity and hops over the barrier.

     Ace leads the way down to the southbound platform. He swipes a panel on his arm cannon, activating a built-in flashlight feature. "Gotta get me one of those," says Mya. We gather by the yellow area in front of the tracks. "So what? We taking the tube?"

     "Not exactly." Ace hops down onto the tracks and then signals for us to follow. He lights our way with the beam from his arm cannon, though there's not much to see down here. Just your typical subway tunnel. Complete with litter—old newspapers, chocolate bar wrappers, water bottles. Oh, and rats. Lots of rats.