peered back over, he was moving down the avenue on a motorcycle. “Engine” was the word she’d been searching for. Frozen with indecision, she watched him ride around a pile of rubble in the middle of the road, slowing and taking a careful path around. Then he turned west and disappeared down another street, between the abandoned and ruined buildings. Some she’d lived in. Others were too dangerous to enter.
Her dead city had another life-form in it. He wasn’t one of the shambling, hungering dead that had wandered these streets before. The corpses had migrated outwards long ago. And they couldn’t drive, as far as she remembered. They weren’t that high functioning. No, this was a man, and very much alive. She was no longer alone here.
It was a tough thought to process, so she didn’t process it at all. She banished it from her mind and crawled back to her spot in the stairwell. Her dreams were troubled.
+++++
She didn’t think about the man, but she took care to leave fewer signs of her passing. She wiped away footprints when she crossed the desolate streets. Her paths would have led to her food supplies, and even now, even after being so alone for so long, her first instinct was to protect them. Some she didn’t visit at all, though her closest piles dwindled. She built no fires.
Somehow he learned of her existence anyway. She didn’t hear the motorcycle again, but she found little chalk messages scrawled where there were none before. A “Hello!” on the corner of a broken brick wall. A “Come out, stranger” on an unbroken stretch of asphalt.
She blamed the city. Projecting at the skyscraper skeletons, she screamed, "You're lying! There's no one else here!" But the messages kept appearing. “Come say hello on Lanegan Street.” “Will trade for food.” “Leaving soon. Sorry.” Her stomach clenched each time she saw one of the chalk notes. She rubbed them all out with her sleeve so she could pretend they were never there in the first place.
+++++
She fought her way over a crumbling tower of cinderblocks. The city howled. Dust stung her cheeks and her hands. All light was blotted out by the violent wind storm, but her goggles offered poor visibility anyway. She carefully picked her way through the doorway into the building's lobby. The wind chased her inside and created a tornado-like cloud of dust. She knew where she was going, she'd been here before. Holding her scarf over her mouth she made blind progress to the back wall, then felt her way to the elevator shaft.
She huddled there, finally protected from the wind. It howled outside. She had just enough space to stretch out flat, her feet touching one wall and her head only an inch from the other. In the dark and the dust, it felt like a grave. She'd been buried alive. The weight of the city sat above her and she took deep slow breaths through her scarf. She ate from the small food supply she’d hidden here; she kept her eyes open and waited for light.
She didn’t think about the man, but her body did. Lying still, alone in a dark so deep she couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face, she felt feverish. Too warm. She couldn’t seem to control her breathing or her beating heart, and a wet heat blossomed between her thighs. Her mouth went dry as her hand wandered downwards. Her pants were loose, and after undoing her belt, she easily slipped a hand inside. She inhaled sharply at her fingers contact with her damp and swollen lips. “Are you watching?” The city was dead, it couldn’t watch, but she asked anyway. She circled the little hood hiding her clit until the little bud was coaxed into appearing. Gathering moisture from her needy recess, she touch the sensitive button; her hips lifted from the ground. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this; but then, her sense of time was completely askew.
She rolled onto her side and pushed her other hand down the back of her pants. Two fingers
Her dead city had another life-form in it. He wasn’t one of the shambling, hungering dead that had wandered these streets before. The corpses had migrated outwards long ago. And they couldn’t drive, as far as she remembered. They weren’t that high functioning. No, this was a man, and very much alive. She was no longer alone here.
It was a tough thought to process, so she didn’t process it at all. She banished it from her mind and crawled back to her spot in the stairwell. Her dreams were troubled.
+++++
She didn’t think about the man, but she took care to leave fewer signs of her passing. She wiped away footprints when she crossed the desolate streets. Her paths would have led to her food supplies, and even now, even after being so alone for so long, her first instinct was to protect them. Some she didn’t visit at all, though her closest piles dwindled. She built no fires.
Somehow he learned of her existence anyway. She didn’t hear the motorcycle again, but she found little chalk messages scrawled where there were none before. A “Hello!” on the corner of a broken brick wall. A “Come out, stranger” on an unbroken stretch of asphalt.
She blamed the city. Projecting at the skyscraper skeletons, she screamed, "You're lying! There's no one else here!" But the messages kept appearing. “Come say hello on Lanegan Street.” “Will trade for food.” “Leaving soon. Sorry.” Her stomach clenched each time she saw one of the chalk notes. She rubbed them all out with her sleeve so she could pretend they were never there in the first place.
+++++
She fought her way over a crumbling tower of cinderblocks. The city howled. Dust stung her cheeks and her hands. All light was blotted out by the violent wind storm, but her goggles offered poor visibility anyway. She carefully picked her way through the doorway into the building's lobby. The wind chased her inside and created a tornado-like cloud of dust. She knew where she was going, she'd been here before. Holding her scarf over her mouth she made blind progress to the back wall, then felt her way to the elevator shaft.
She huddled there, finally protected from the wind. It howled outside. She had just enough space to stretch out flat, her feet touching one wall and her head only an inch from the other. In the dark and the dust, it felt like a grave. She'd been buried alive. The weight of the city sat above her and she took deep slow breaths through her scarf. She ate from the small food supply she’d hidden here; she kept her eyes open and waited for light.
She didn’t think about the man, but her body did. Lying still, alone in a dark so deep she couldn’t even see her own hand in front of her face, she felt feverish. Too warm. She couldn’t seem to control her breathing or her beating heart, and a wet heat blossomed between her thighs. Her mouth went dry as her hand wandered downwards. Her pants were loose, and after undoing her belt, she easily slipped a hand inside. She inhaled sharply at her fingers contact with her damp and swollen lips. “Are you watching?” The city was dead, it couldn’t watch, but she asked anyway. She circled the little hood hiding her clit until the little bud was coaxed into appearing. Gathering moisture from her needy recess, she touch the sensitive button; her hips lifted from the ground. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done this; but then, her sense of time was completely askew.
She rolled onto her side and pushed her other hand down the back of her pants. Two fingers
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