The woods are silent, a whisper of wind running amongst the bare branches. The growls of the undead gurgle through the dead wood like a bubbling stream.

The Mossberg 590A1 Retrograde shotgun is slung over his shoulder comfortably as the midnight soldier makes his way east, where he believes civilization rests amongst a nest of Birch trees and deer moss.

A growl to his left let’s him know a young zombie, maybe a day into the game of the undead is near. In one swift motion, he locks the shotgun into place and fires once, aiming for the throat as he was taught.

Upon impact, the zombie’s neck explodes, dribbling blood and grey muscle onto the damp ground as the head is detached from the neck, killing the already dead creature.

Scavengers are all that’s left, it’s rarely a prey and predator situation in these parts. They say out west there is a small village cut to the teeth with security.

His plan is to make a square shaped route, avoiding much of the drylands as he possibly can, since those parts reek of the dead and midnight strolls there are nearly impossible with the herds of the undead.

The distant POPPOPPOP of gunfire from a semiautomatic handgun lets Ash know he’s close to the village, where he will be protected inside their walls of stone and vine.

A stumbling zombie charges him from behind. Ash sidesteps and does a shimmy as he pulls the gun to his shoulder and squeezes the trigger, not bothering to look through the scope of the long gun. The zombie falls back, wounded in the leg and scared.

Ash continues east as the creature flees, dragging his leg with him into the brush. Bullets cannot be wasted on such a low-life creature.

“Brotha,” a dark man exits the building, as he nears, a pistol tucked in his waistband as he picks his way through the weeds.

“Jaydee,” Ash says, smiling as he claps Jaydee on the back, shouldering his own gun. “My man, how are you?”

“Worse with these goddamned zombies roaming about. Who would’ve thought we’d live an episode of The Walking Dead?”

“I feel ya, man. I was hoping to grab a few nights of sleep and head on to the next base,” Ash replies, pointing to his right.

“That’s… say, fifteen miles out. Way too long for them skinny ass legs,” Jaydee laughs at his own joke.

Ash gives him a wolfish grin, his dark eyes saying the words he won’t have to say. Ash spent five years in the military, learned to shoot a gun at long range, top sniper in his group. After military, he got released and fell into trouble. He done another four years in jail, but was cut short by a year, due to the the apocalypse.

“Okay, man. Whatever you say. Let’s get you to a room, set you up as a security guard, they give free food to those. Free bullets and guns,” Jaydee says.

“Ah, I see, boy. That was you firing that automatic up top,” Ash points to the ridge where several scopes have over the eaves, the glow catching and reflecting the moonlight.

“Naw man. I be with that pop, pop. Not the semiautomatic. That was Lewis you heard, brotha.”

Ash follows Jaydee into the village where he’s reunited with a bunch of his old jailbirds and friends. From there, he continues out, helping people in need and executing the creatures that crawl in the night.

I have been walking, it seems, all my life; hiding in shadow for most of it. A scavenger. A loner. A picker of the bones of dead animals already stripped bare by those much stronger. A man—if I can even be called a man—without family, friend or even simple acquaintance.

Memories of my mother are merely faded images—glimpses of my earlier struggles—but, at least, I had someone who protected me, taught me. Someone who loved me, if only for the briefest of time.

I know not why the world is the way it is, it has been like this since before my birth; it is all I have known. My mother regularly spoke of what she called ‘The MAD Twins’; two great leaders, she said, who refused to back down. Two conflicting ideologists who dragged their armies, their peoples, and all who dwelt on this once fertile, beautiful rock into their own pitiful pissing contest. From what began as words, escalating into the cataclysmic destruction of almost all and everything.

I have known nothing else but survival, sometimes at the cost of others. Yes, I have killed—too many times, it’s true—but only in defence of myself. Only when necessity has dictated such action. And only those who were ‘different’, those who were hunting me. They did not have the same red and black markings on their skins, nor the blisters or boils which used to cause me such pain, but are barely noticeable now. Their skins are smooth, unblemished. Almost as if they escaped the worst of the MAD Twins’ fight.

The hunters would call me ‘infected’, a term I do not understand. They would chase me down, back me into corners, force me to react. I did not wish for confrontation, but they brought it upon themselves. I have learned not to feel badly for these attackers; they did, after all, provide much needed sustenance when at my lowest. A full meal when I was starving.

Till now I had never seen others like myself. Only the hunters. But, this day, at first light as the sun rose and I was seeking shelter from its painful rays, I espied two who looked as I do. Two ‘infected’, carrying the same red and black scars, the same boils and blisters. It was only for a few seconds, as they disappeared into the tree line, back toward their own shelters no doubt. But they were there, two of them. Were there more? Were they a family, or, even better, a larger group?

My excitement feels limitless, but I must contain myself. I must wait until darkness falls before I seek these other infected out.

Will tomorrow be the beginning of a new life?

The end of the world came when everyone least expected it. Some idiot scientist decided it would be a good idea to bring back the dead as zombie-like superhumans bent on destroying all uninfected humans. So yeah, I'd say this is definitely a July for the history books. Assuming humanity survives to tell the tale. I think most people have either died off, or been turned by now. As far as I know, I'm the last surviving human, although I hope that's not the case. Before all of this happened, I contemplated being one of the last people on earth, and how awesome it would be. I could live out my days in luxury, not having to worry about work, taxes, or my aunt Cherryl. Seriously, family reunions with her are the WORST. It turns out though, that not having people or anything to occupy my time gets pretty boring. After playing solitaire by myself at least a thousand times, although I did get pretty god at it. I began to long for something social. So I packed up my playing cards and my Ryan Reynolds bobblehead collection, and left abandoned house I had taken up residence in after the previous owner didn't need it anymore. My first thought was to set off in search of other survivors, but I needed to think through things before not doing so winds up landing me as a zombie. So as I climbed into my car, I decided to go for a drive while listening to music. Driving down the freeway has always been my preferred method for clearing my head. And I do realize now that that MIGHT have not been a good idea in the middle of an apocolypse, but I needed to clear my head, and all's well that ends well, I guess. Speaking of ending well, i did end up finding those people I went looking for. I honestly would have preferred humans going extinct to having to rely on these people, but they keep me safe and they might just maybe, be able to save humanity. I'm hoping they do, otherwise I would be making these audio recordings for nobody. Anyway, I need to go help gather food, but I will keep making these in the hope that someday, someone will listen to them and know what happened. Over and out. Hey Jeremy! How do you turn this off again? What button? Oh wait, nevermin- end of audio note no.1, do you wish to continue?

TW: Death, implied war.

All the problems of her past melted away at the sight of people. Happy, Healthy, and most importantly: thriving in their new environment. A group of children, presumably born after the crisis, kicked a ball around, playing what seemed to be a modified version of soccer. One toddler spotted her, and ran to an adult, tugging on his skirt for attention. He looked at the woman who was standing nervously in the archway, and his face lit up with recognition. He ran to her, the child clumsily following in his wake. "Coco!" The man shouted, excitedly. Coco felt a smile appear on her face. "Blake?" She asked tentatively. "That's me!" He was grinning ear-to-ear. "Where were you?" 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦, she thought. "I was travelling around- I ended staying up north for a while. Where were 𝘺𝘰𝘶?" "We found this city and have been patching it up." The toddler began tapping his shoes, and he laughed. "And this is my kid. Can you say 'hello', Robin?" The child spluttered, "Hewo. Hewlo... Hewo Robin." "No, you're Robin." He said, "I see how you got that confused. How about 'hello Coco'?" "Hewlo Cowo!" "Good job!" He said, picking them up and putting them on his shoulders. "They're adorable!" Coco swallowed, thinking about one of her last conversations with Lili. They had been brainstorming names for if they decided to have children. Something is Coco's face, must have tipped Blake off, because he put Robin down, saying, "Why don't you go see what Sunny is up to?" Once the child was far enough away, he asked, "Are you okay?" For the hundredth time, Coco's heart shattered. "No." Blake swept Coco into an embrace. "That's okay." "Lili..." "How long?" Blake asked. "A year." "Oh, Coco," He squeezed her tightly. "You're safe here." "Thank you." she choked. "No problem," he said, stepping back. "Welcome back."

“Some would say the cold would slow an infection: those people are idiots.”

Isabel laughed, the only source of humour besides from the lingering of the old comedy bar twenty or so miles away. Neimar wasn’t at all in the funniest, but knowing that laughing would make him feel better, she had her act on point.

They lay on the outskirts of Elyo, tucked away in a small square held together by heaps of rusty metal. Their beds, parallel to one another, left room for a desk between them, and slightly further up, was Isabel’s workbench.

Isabel and Neimar had both worked in the same shop for a long time before the apocalypse. Both mechanics, or fixer-uppers, as Neimar liked to call it. But after the apocalypse had started, Neimar never wanted to see a workbench again.

He was both mentally and physically broken. He had lost his mother to the apocalypse and been bitten all within a span of a month. But Isabel couldn’t ditch him. Regardless of how much he slowed her down, they were best friends: something that had truly been put to the test.

Isabel was sat at her workbench. She slid her signature silver magnifying goggles on, the ones she had gotten for her fifteenth birthday, and got to work.

“How long do you think it’ll be before we see people?” Neimar asked, resting on his bed, where his leg trembled unnaturally with the bite troubling his knee.

“I don’t know,” Isabel replied, her hands fixed on whatever she was creating, with metal wires poking from her hands, which caused Neimar to look up. “Could be a week. A month.” He heard her audibly sigh. “A year.”

“Glad to know you’re staying positive.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, glass half full,” Isabel ranted on, the metal wires being twisted into place by what looked like pliers.

“Glass half what?” Neimar tilted his head.

“You know, glass half full? Half empty? Positive, negat—“ she turned around to see Neimar’s dumbfounded face and huffed. “Whatever, never mind.”

Isabel got back to work. After a while, the loud snoring of Neimar indicated he had finally fallen asleep, which gave Isabel a breath of fresh air, considering the bite on his leg had somehow given him mad insomnia.

—

“C’mon, only another ten minutes,” Isabel panted, out of breath. Neimar’s leg shook uncontrollably as he steadied himself on a large rock.

“Ten minutes?!” He cried until he thought his eyes deceived him. “Wait— Iz— am I hallucinating?”

Isabel’s eyes widened. “What? Are you okay? Do you feel nauseous? Feel like… turning into something… other than human?”

Neimar snorted. “No, not that type of hallucination. Look behind you.”

Isabel did so. In front of her around two hundred feet away was a fully functioning town. A literal civilisation. Around ten or so people were huddled around a house that was covered in debris and rubble, perhaps an explosion. Others were huddled amongst a small tent while little boys ran around playing tag behind cream white brick houses.

Things were looking up.

It was the light that kept her moving, like a moth: it was necessary for navigating but might also lead to her death.

But it was light.

Artificial light.

It had been fourteen months since she’d seen any sort of manufactured light; back when she still had working batteries; back when her flashlight proved more valuable than her rifle in keeping her alive.

She stopped at the edge of the tree line. The small wooded hill had been her home for three nights as she peered into the valley below, looking for some sign of ‘friend or foe’ to become clear. She had originally assumed the light had been from some small campsite—some idiot apparently trying to get robbed and murdered—or worse—by leaving his light on like a shining beacon to all the worst of who was left.

Or it was a trap: An angler fish trying to coax her in through desperate curiosity.

Either way, she stayed where she was until daybreak, bag still packed, shoes still on, rifle across lap.

What she saw that first morning took what remained of her breath away (the ever present Haze having taken some if it already). As the sunlight began to penetrate the still-oppressive layer of dust-ash, she saw not a small campsite or even a tiny village but an entire town! Hundreds, maybe thousands (who knew?) went about their daily routine as though the world hadn’t changed at all. She watched as what she assumed were farmers brought crops in from the field in the backs of pickup trucks converted to horse-drawn carts. From her vantage point she couldn’t see clearly what crops were being harvested, save for the load of carrots that were brought in on the second day of her reconnaissance. They were small, thin, but they were indeed carrots.

She also saw fish—big, thick trout and salmon—brought up from the northern river.

A hunting party brought back an elk. It was small, almost like a deer, but still with a couple hundred pounds of meat.

By the third morning she had started to recognize people, routines. Mr. Baseball Hat brining in fresh milk. Mr. Denim Shorts fixing the fence around the pigs. Mrs. Denim Shorts showing a small child how to hand wash clothing. Little Denim Shorts trying to reach up and hang the wet clothing on the a line twice his height, his mother laughing and picking him up. Hawaiian shirt bringing her daily catch to market. Old Man Cane-Walker leading a gaggle of little ones to what she assumed was a school house.

She watched as the familiar, everyday life of this miracle town continued on and on as though The Event never happened, as though these seemingly normal, lovely townspeople were merely a relic of time before, placed in a strange new world and making the best of it.

She had longed to make herself known, to run down the side of the hill toward the front gate and plead with the sentries to grant her access. She would work hard for them. She had skills. Before The Event she had been an artist—which meant nothing now—but her hobby was making her own clothing. She could sew, mend, create. She had also worked in a kitchen for years during college, learning to cook large quantities of food, as well as how to keep it safely stored to avoid illness. Moreover, in the nearly two years since, she had learned many skills that would be a benefit to the group: trapping; hunting; foraging; trotline fishing. Or she’d volunteer to stand watch. She was a tack-driver with her .270 and still had plenty of ammo.

She would work. She would contribute.

She just wanted to be part of something normal. Something… communal.

Her only companions for so many long months had been the few books she was able to carry in her pack. She’d wanted to take the whole small library when she decided to leave the blue house, but the weight made that untenable. She opted instead for some small, pocket-sized hardcover books that were part of a Classic Literature set from Barnes & Noble. Huckleberry Finn. Sherlock Holmes. Alan Quartermaine. Captain Nemo.

She had read and reread them so many times that she almost felt the characters were real, alive, just beyond her reach. She had laughed to herself one night, realizing she was desperately close to talking to a volleyball with a bloody handprint on it. But she knew those books were as much responsible for her survival as food and shelter. They had kept her mind working, had given her a Something to Do at the end of a successful day of not dying. (Though, ironically, there was the one close call when she realized she’d drawn attention to herself when sunlight had glinted off the gold leaf pages of Monte Cristo.) Now, though, they merely felt heavy in her rucksack.

She needed to once again be part of a society.

She cared not how, or at what level. She’d empty the toilets or dig the ditches or burn the refuse—whatever was required. She just wanted to be part of the group.

And on the morning of Day 3 she decided to make the leap of faith, to override the very survival instincts that had carried her though.

She started down the hill, at first creeping along, darting from ‘cover to cover’ as she had become accustomed to. But after thirty feet or so, she stopped, stood up straight, and walked. Why look like a threat? She had committed to it, whatever that risk was. She slung her rifle over her shoulder, forced a placid serenity upon her countenance, and walked slowly, confidently toward the gate.

————-

“This is really good.”

Cheryl, the woman the leaders had assigned to assist her, ladled another scoop of stew into her bowl. It felt amazing to be washed—with real soap and shampoo—and dressed in clean clothing. To use real toothpaste again. To drink coffee again!

“Thank you,” Cheryl said, “the recipe is my mother’s. It tastes a bit different, we have no way to grain feed the cattle yet, but I have to say I still find it quite good myself. How did you find your accommodations?”

It took her a moment to get down a massive mouthful and she felt embarrassed, telling herself to slow down, to eat like a human again. “Oh, it’s very nice.”

“I imagine you have had to sleep in some pretty terrible places during these long months. How did you survive the winter, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Her instinct was to remain silent, not to give anything away. But something about all this, about Cheryl, the warm stew, the clean, homey feeling, made her feel safe. She told Cheryl the major beats, about those first desperate days and weeks, about stumbling on a yet-untouched country market, about feeling guilty—even then—about taking so much food and hiding it in the forest, about the sprained ankle that nearly killed her.

She told her most of the story, leaving out only the mundane or the too-too personal thoughts of ‘ending it all.’ The time she had to kill. Not yet. Maybe she’d share that later, when they knew her better.

Cheryl wiped away tears. “You’re something else. I don’t know if I could have made it a month on my own.”

“How did you all survive? How did you create this? And how can I be part of it? What can I do to earn my keep? I don’t want charity.”

Cheryl paused, gathered herself. “Well, that’s a great question. We survived initially because we all had plenty. See, we, this community, well, we all had garages full of packaged food, hygienic supplies, electrolyte powders, even cosmetics—which, let me tell you, made a big difference in feeling ‘normal’ again.”

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying there for sure. But, how did you have all that? Are you all, like, survivalists or something? Preppers?”

Cheryl laughed. “Us, oh no, not at all. No, we’re something even better. See, we all were part of an amazing company—a family really—and when everything fell apart, well, we were okay because we were just chocked full of everything we needed.” Here, Cheryl leaned in, “And we want you to be part of that family, too.”

There was something not quite right in the way Cheryl said it. Something unsettling. Suddenly, the stew felt heavy in her stomach.

She looked around the room, her eyes settling on the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner.

Cheryl continued. “See, and this is the best part, you not only get to thrive here, but you get to be the creator of your own success story! You get to be the boss of your own life! It’s simple. You work in what’s called my ‘downline.’ What that means is that I’m here to help and support you build your business by providing you with goods at wholesale prices. Then, what you do is you find new people who will purchase those goods from you at a small profit. From that group, you want to cultivate entrepreneurial spirits to start their own businesses, and they become part of your ‘downline.’ And that’s when it gets just truly amazing…”

The boxes. They were all the same. She felt nauseous as she stood and walked toward the nearest stack. Cheryl continued, but she was no longer listening.

She slowly pulled her sleeve up around her hand and wiped a layer of dust of the top box, revealing the very word she’d feared she’d see: AMWAY.

—————

Her pack seemed heavy as she climbed the mountain trail three miles east of the little town. She knew well enough that the food in her stomach would carry her on for a few days, but she’d need to find a place to set up camp soon, if only to get her squirrel traps set.

It would be a long winter.

It was so dusty and dark. The sky was overcast with clouds and strong gusts of wind whipped my hair into my eyes. A dead street for miles and miles, full of broken and busted up buildings, no one else in sight. Everything was so…quiet. The only sounds were the sharp winds and soft clack of my shoes on pavement.

What…happened to this place? I thought to myself. I had just woken up an hour ago in a dirty motel, lost and confused, with no recollection of how I got there. In fact, the more I thought, I couldn’t remember anything at all.

What’s my last memory? I thought. I strained trying to picture something, anything from my mind but there was nothing; it was completely, thoroughly blank.

What the hell is going on? Why can’t I remember anything??? Who are you? I thought to myself. Start with small questions. I pondered. I realized that this, too, was also gone. I had no clue who I was or anything about my identity. All I knew was that I was hungry and tired and lost, so terribly lost here. I ambled the street, trying to find a place where food might be.

I should’ve just searched while I was back at the motel, I thought.

He crouched down, dropping his pack behind an oak tree, keeping his bow and quiver close to him. The tall grass tickled the back of his ear, and the moisture from the dirt seeped into his pants where the knee pushes the fabric into the ground.

A breeze flowed through the forest trees, carrying the smell of something that he couldn’t quite label. It danced around his nose. For a moment, it seduced him. It overwhelmed his mouth with warm, tasteless fluid. He swallowed, and the knot in his stomach tightened.

“What is this?” his mind was processing.

Strange-shaped rocks that resemble elephants towered over the trees that stood towering over him. There were hundreds of them, they were beautiful. Smooth, reddish-orange stones, with white symbols on their surface, probably hold some type of significance.

“This can't be real. I have to get closer.” The man whispered to himself.

He threw his quiver over his head and shoulder, and following that motion, he nocked an arrow. Likewise, he stepped over the fallen grass and leaves. The further he walked, the closer he became. The elephants grew, standing tall and casting a shadow over the towering oak trees.

“This is incredible” the sound from his voice made him nervous, he listened for any other form of activity. Nothing seemed to tingle his senses. Nothing besides that mystery smell.

He dropped, then forward and into a front roll. Coming up to cover behind an oak tree. The base of the close's elephant let out a loud howl, and along with it came the introduction of a large gust of air. The ocean of grass and leaves moved.

There it was, the source of the sounds, the breeze, the smell. Before him in the smooth, reddish-orange stone, a cut opening. The cavern was dark, jet black. What he could see was darkness with the flashing of a distant fire behind it. The potent smell of wood burning gathered with an obnoxious stench filled his nostrils. This smell called out the inner curiosity and curiosity he felt.

“I’m going to need my pack.” He’s been alone, and in survival mode for so long, that his mind was more of a companion now than a part of him, always keeping his best interest at heart. It was against his survival sense to go in. Then he thought, so live on the edge for once. I don't want to be alone anymore. Maybe I'll find civilized people this time.

He turned and went back toward the tree where he had dropped his equipment. To his surprise, it was gone. “I know I dropped it here.” His voice returned to a whisper. The flat patch of grass where the weight he was carrying left behind its imprint. The hair on the rear of his neck stood as straight as a needle. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Peripheral vision allowed him to pick anything from the field of view missed. Now he was confident his pack was gone.

He positioned himself with his back to the bark that gravity had been pulling from the trunk of the oak tree. Hands steady and ready to draw back at a moment's notice. Scanning the area carefully. The sense of being watched crept in. The thought of knowing something was taking place but not certain of what it could be tightened his stomach more. 

It consumed all of his thoughts. Being as silent as possible with no idea of what was transpiring helped little. He seconded guess the location.

The tree leaves tussled above him, and he heard the note of a small branch cracked. A distinction from the ruffling of the wind, whatever was in those branches knew a thing or two of silence.

His reaction was instant, and he raised the bow upward, pointing it in the area of the noise. A droplet on his forehead formed. He held the arrow, coming closer. Straining to hear movement so that he could determine the angle to send it. Time seemed slower than normal. In reality, it was an asset. His arms flexed and made ready to release. He could feel his heart in his chest.

The silence was broken, the soft sound of pitter-patter behind him. It progressed like an insult to mock his attempt at finding its source. “Too slow.” A hiss formed the ridicule ahead of a sudden intake of breath, which was followed by a swift movement to the left of his vision. He spun around, repositioning his feet and dropping his bow. Replacing it with the cutlass from this belt. The figure had her cloak covering her face, but with a quick snap of the wrist, she had it off and gave him a pair of blue eyes. “How did you-” he said as a sharp pain in his neck right under his jaw line struck him like a wasp sting. The person before him appeared to be a youthful woman with short brown hair, with a curved blade, she had just revealed out of some hidden sheath.

“We have hit you with a dart that contains curare, paralysis will set in soon. You should not have come here.” The youthful woman’s voice was reluctant.

His torso tensed up. He could not speak, he could not move. He is going to die like this, he thought. Falling to the ground, his body crashed hard and awkwardly. The youthful woman sheathed her blade before crouching down in front of him, reaching out and closing his eyelids. We don’t want your eyes to dry out, do we? That wouldn’t be too pleasant.”

Everything went dark. Several thoughts race through his mind. As he heard more pitter-patter. How many were there? He knew his body lifted from the ground. They were carrying him. No dragging him. The breeze grew stronger and the odd smell and burning wood returned. He got chilly. I’m in the cavern. His companion concluded. Then something was wrapped around his limbs. Binding them together. A strap holding his dead arms tight over his head.

He could feel his eyelids pushed open. He gasped at the sight. It was all around him. They had carved out the cavern interior. It was an entire civilization. The cave stretched for miles, it seemed. Houses and markets. Temples and taverns. Businesses and guild halls. It was all true. Everything he had been told was all accurate. The dwellers existed.

He was being held up by straps attached to some oak post that was installed in this way for no other reason but to keep prisoners. They were in some kind of camp outside the city itself. Maybe an outpost? His mind attempted to gather pieces of the puzzle.

The young woman had returned her cloak. “You’ve found us. I’m uncertain if you just stumble upon us or if you sought us out. Either way. The outcome is the same.” She paused as she looked out. “Your tale does not have a happy ending” the sentence fell from her mouth as she disappeared out of view, unaffected.

He thought about the family he once had. All his old friends and how beautiful the world used to be. A fire flickered a few yards in front of them. Something was roasting over the red-hot coals. “Was this the fire that was flashing at the entrance?” Once again, his mind snatched a puzzle piece. The smell was no longer tainted by the forest. He knew what it was now. He could see a human being spit roasted in the fire. The meat sizzled and bubbled. The vague recollection of a camp he slipped around occupied with bandits roasting extremities they gathered from an onslaught flashed before his eyes. It had been ages since he had seen this, but the initial impressions of dread and revolt came out as if the feelings had never disappeared.

He laughed peering out at the dwellers living their lives. "I guess I'm not alone anymore." A glance back at the fire. "Finally."

** This is a sequel to "Rory The Flying Squirrel". It's not a necessary read, just know that it's essentially a sequel to the overall prompt of "You live in a world where you are assigned a pet animal since birth".**

We met Deacon and Sinclair under a bridge, just a few miles south of The Concrete Jungle. Deacon was casually sitting on a discarded milk crate, eating a can of beans. Sinclair sat at his heel, nibbling away at what Deacon allowed him to. Deacon had had his eyes on us from as far as I could see them, and when we finally got within talking distance he just stared, fishing beans out with two fingers, with no altercation to his facial expression. He wiped some of the bean juices from his five-o-clock shadow and sized us up.

"You ain't hostiles," Deacon muttered through a small but noticeable belch.

I nodded my head. "We don't aim to be. And I'm guessing you didn't take us for a threat since..." I trailed off as I pointed to his animal companion who gave us a docile stare, unable to pinpoint the name of the species.

"That'd be Sinclair. He's a ferret," Responded Deacon, he shoveled more beans into his mouth.

"I'm Elmo. This here is Rory...he's a Flying Squirrel."

"Elmo like the puppet on Sesame Street?" Deacon questioned with amusement. His eyes narrowed as he gave me a smirk.

I chuckled and nodded my head. "Like the puppet on Sesame Street."

"Your parents must've been rich to get you a Flying Squirrel. They didn't think to give you a better name?" Deacon said through a laugh.

I smiled. Deacon seemed like a decent enough guy. I'd developed a pretty good sense of character since the world went to shit. It's something you had to get good at when most of the remaining humans wanted to kill you, Deacon didn't give me a vibe of hostility. He was built like a brick shit-house, but there was a softness to his eyes and his smile seemed genuine. He got to his feet, his bones cracking from the cold morning sky. I couldn't decipher his age, he looked older than me but at the same time he didn't, he could have looked the way he did because of the weight of the world. I probably looked older for the same reason.

"Used to love that little guy as a kid," Deacon said through a smile. His smile highlighted his wrinkles and at that moment I knew he was a bit older than me.

"He was a fan favorite...I can't say the same for myself though," I said with a grin.

"I can't say I blame ya," Deacon replied. He gave a hearty laugh that startled Sinclair the Ferret. "What brings you two to this neck of the woods? It's dangerous and I'm guessing you know that."

Deacon pointed to the AK-47 slung over my shoulder, his eyes going from the weapon to the belt around my waist loaded with ammunition.

"We're aware. Rory and I are looking to get through The Concrete Jungle."

Deacon let out a sigh and ran the hand that was free of bean juice through his curly graying hair. "Guessing you two are looking to get to Unity?"

I nodded my head, unsure of what to say, and a bit worried about how he was going to reply. I still didn't think he was a threat, but something about his demeanor made me think otherwise.

"That's where we be going as well. Sinclair and I of course. We got a crew that's doing some scouting before we go," Deacon paused, his eyes narrowing at us. "I understand you folks are aware of how dangerous The Jungle is..."

Everyone knew the wild rumors of The Concrete Jungle. Roughly six city blocks of the most feral and hostile animals. Baboons that could fire guns with military-level accuracy, savage dogs that moved at the speed of light with a laser focus for the jugular, and flocks of birds that worked together to peck out your eyes. Any humans within The Jungle were under the control of the animals, mentally warped, and so savage that they were barely human. Many said that death was a better outcome than becoming a slave of the animal, and I couldn’t agree more. I could feel a pool of unease gurgle at the pit of my stomach. I became very aware that Rory and I were horrifically underprepared. I did my best to choke down my accelerating fear and gave the most confident nod that I could muster up.

Deacon must have seen the unease as it passed over my face because he replied with a shrug and a sigh. He clicked his tongue and nodded his head. "Y'all are more than welcome to join, but you best hold your weight you hear? You get tagged or one of them baboons come for you, we'll do our best to help...but you need to put forth that fighting effort for me and my team, understood?"

Deep down I knew that both Rory and I were good fighters. We'd made it this far with only minor injuries, but The Jungle was a different beast. I knew the fears, I was aware of the dangers, but we were also determined to get to Unity. I managed a more confident nod and opened my mouth to reply...

"Who the fuck is this Deacon?" Boomed a demanding voice from behind me.

I spun around, arms raised in surrender, my eyes falling to the double barrel shotgun aimed square at my chest. I could feel the piercing eyes of its possessor, gripping the shotgun so tightly that I could see the whites of her knuckles. She was ready to pull the trigger at the slightest movement, the glare and the scowl on her face told me more than I needed to know. A monkey sat on her left shoulder, aiming a small snub-nosed pistol at Rory. A young girl and a young guy stood to her left and right, both with pistols aimed in our direction. The girl had a full-grown boxer to her right, and the boy had a cat off to his left. The cat looked up and brandished its claws at me.

"Lower the gun Glass, you too Rose and Parker. This here is Elmo and Rory and they're going to be joining us for our mission to Unity," Deacon said. He had both arms out, hands straight as he made a gentle waving motion for everyone to lower their weapons.

Glass scoffed and scrunched her face in an almost inhuman way. It looked as though she'd just eaten something sour and then got punched in the face. "The fuck do you mean he's joining us? I'm not fighting for these two, how do you know he's even reliable?"

Deacon opened his mouth to speak but I interjected.

"We're not looking to be a burden mam. Far from it. Rory and I can go our separate ways if it's going to cause hostility..."

"That won't be necessary," Deacon said.

"We can fight. I'm very good with this AK, we've fought through numerous attacks and come out on top. I think we can be an asset on your journey to Unity," I raised my AK, for whatever reason, as if to show her that I could hold it properly. The monkey on Glass's shoulder went into a hissing fit, swinging the snub nose around like a crazy monkey.

Glass raised her hand and the monkey calmed down immediately. She glared at me and it made me wildly uncomfortable. "The fuck can your flying squirrel do?"

I gave a hesitant chuckle as Rory scampered up my side and sat on my shoulder. I couldn't see him but I could hear him, and I could see the scowl on his face, I could feel the heat radiating off it. Glass's demeanor softened a bit, a smirk unfolding across her face as she studied Rory's expression.

"That's a confident flying squirrel. I hope he can back up that glare of his."

I nodded my head. "I believe that he can."

Glass brought her full attention to me. "The Jungle is extremely dangerous, it's not to be taken lightly. We don't fuck with stragglers. Got it?"

I nodded my head. "Deacon said the same thing. We'll earn our keep."

Glass nodded her head. "Rose has some food, and Parker has some first aid. It's not a lot but take what you need. Fuel up. We leave at nightfall."

They seemed like a halfway decent team...for the most part. Glass damn near scared the shit out of me with her double-barrel shotgun, but I got where she was coming from. It was clear that she and Deacon were the leaders of their little band of outcasts. Deacon playing "good cop" and Glass playing "bad cop". I learned that they were initially from a larger group and that they came up with the idea of traveling to Unity, bonding together to get through The Concrete Jungle.

My initial thoughts on Deacon were correct, he was just a big guy with a kind heart. It was weird but we bonded over Elmo, of all things. Turns out he didn't just love the puppet he idolized him as a kid. Just like myself, he'd been through a tremendous amount since the animal uprising, losing his wife and his two kids. He had an infectious laugh, and he was a big drinker who'd specialized in making his own booze. I have to admit, this was the attribute that told me we'd get along.

I couldn't say the same for Glass. She too looked like the weight of the world had crushed her under its thumb. But she looked as though the weight had crushed her well before the uprising. She had wild gray hair that shot out in every direction, and bags under her eyes that could carry a fortnight's amount of groceries. Her eyes were a fading gray and she never seemed to blink. I caught onto this fact after about an hour of talking to her, her eyes always remained open, and it was creepy. I understood being on high alert, but Glass was on a different level, damn near jumping six feet when a fly would cross us. Throughout the day, she seemed to warm up to me but I wasn't sure. I got the feeling that she was waiting for me to slip up, say the wrong thing, or even move in the wrong direction.

Rose and Parker were both in their early twenties, Rose was twenty-three and Parker was twenty-one. It was very clear that the two were an item, they didn't outright say it, and they didn't show signs of affection, but it was obvious. I could see it through their body language towards one another, the way he looked at her, the way she smiled back, and their tone of voice with each other. They were a very cute couple.

As I stated, they were a halfway decent bunch...and I sincerely hoped we'd make it to Unity as a whole.

We moved at nightfall, just as Glass had insisted. We took to the alleyways at 7:30, just as the sun began to dip beneath the mountains. We were able to see the carnage of The Concrete Jungle a few blocks away at roughly 8:15. We stood in a dark alley concealed by the shadows of some dumpsters and piles of trash.

"Looks like hell," whispered Parker.

From where we were we could hear the whooping of the baboons that had claimed the jungle, we could hear the cawing of the birds as they flew through the sky, their small bodies jutting across the full moon. In the distance, we could hear the savage growl as the dogs tore into their dinner. In the distance, I could faintly hear the screams and cries of the unlucky humans.

Deacon took a deep breath. "You guy's ready for this? Now's the time to turn back." He scanned over his team, his gaze landing on me.

I gave a nod, careful to not let the glimmer of unease reveal itself. I did see the unease in both Rose and Parker, but they eventually gave a nod as well. Glass began to check her weapons, checking the mechanics on the double barrel and patting her body down, reassuring herself of her inventory. She cleared her throat.

"We use stealth. Stick to the shadows. If they spot us..."

BLAM!!!!!

And then the top of Glass's head was gone. Her eyes shot open, as blood and brain rained down her face. Her lower jaw continued to move but the words ceased to come out. Her eyes began to dart around sporadically, and then another shot cut through the sky. And this shot removed Glass's head entirely. Her head exploded like a crimson-filled water balloon.

"Take Cover!!!" Shouted Deacon.

I threw myself to the ground as more shots cut through the night. I could see the sparks from the bullets as they made contact with the pavement around us. I could hear the panicked screams from Rose as Parker used his body as a shield. In the distance, the whooping and screaming from the baboons got louder.

"Fall Back!!" Screamed Deacon.

I remained low and looked towards The Jungle in horror. I could see them closing in on us, the shadows of what looked like half a dozen baboons moving towards us. Some of them were on the dogs, screaming into the night and firing their weapons into the sky. From behind them, I could see the flock of birds as they flew towards us, nearly blocking out the moon.

Rose let out a scream of hysterics as her boxer darted out of the alley and into the incoming siege, Parker's cat following close behind. I looked at Rory who sat on my shoulder, it was the first time that I felt genuine fear for him. He gave me a few squeaks and nodded his head, and within seconds he was off. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him vanish into the sea of birds.

"Elmo! Get them out of here! I'll stall them!" Deacon shouted as he pulled the trigger on his M16.

I raised my AK and began firing at the incoming baboons. My rounds hitting one and sending it spiraling off its dog counterpart, I swept it to the right and took down a few more as Rose and Parker got behind me and fired their pistols. I remained low and continued firing, ejecting a clip and reloading as fast as I could.

"Elmo! Move!" Deacon screamed.

I nodded my head and pushed Parker and Rose in the opposite direction. I looked at Deacon and realized that this was it for him. I wasn't going to see him again, I was never going to try his homemade alcohol, and he wasn't going to make it to Unity. I watched as Deacon popped out from cover, firing his M16, and then I saw the hailstorm of bullets as they tore through him. I could see the moonlight slice through the holes in his body and then he collapsed to the floor.

That's when I realized that the flock of birds was directly above us. Parker and Rose began firing upwards, but their pistols were useless. I fired my AK into the sky which brought a few of them down but even that seemed ineffective. The flock of birds formed what looked like a tornado, bringing it down and around Parker. I darted forward and grabbed Rose's hand and pulled her to the left down another alley.

"PARKER!!!!" She screamed.

I looked over my shoulder to see the tornado of birds continued to whirl around Parker. I could hear his screams, and through the birds, I could see the carnage as they tore him to shreds.

"PARKER!!!" Rose screamed again. She began to fire her pistol weakly into the tornado of birds but it was too late.

We had to move, we couldn't afford to stop. The birds were busy with Parker and I could only imagine what the remaining baboons were doing with the bodies of Deacon and Glass. I didn't know if the baboons were aware that we'd gotten away, and at the moment I didn't care. So I ran straight with my hand around Rose's. Leaving the sounds of carnage that came from the inhabitants of The Concrete Jungle.

We continued to run for what felt like an eternity, deviating our path, going right for a bit then left, always sticking to the alleys. At some point, I found an exposed basement window for an abandoned factory. I checked our surroundings, ensured that it was clear, and helped Rose into the basement before pushing myself through. It reeked of mold and piss, but it would do for the night. I was able to push a bookshelf over the exposed window and that's where Rose and I resided. I told Rose to get some rest, but she was in hysterics over Parker. But regardless, at some point, we both fell asleep.

I was awoken by something softly batting at my face. My initial thought was that the previous night was some horrific nightmare. I peeled my eyes open and I could see a sliver of sun as it shone through the window past the bookshelf. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes to see Rory sitting on my chest. I shot up, a burst of excitement and joy radiating through my body.

"Oh my God! Rory!!! You're alive!!!"

He had a few cuts on him, but aside from that, he looked fine. He gave me a little nod and scurried up to my shoulder. It took me a second to gather what was going on, a moment to digest the events from the previous night. I scanned the basement and saw both Parker's cat and Sinclair sitting on Rose's lap. Parker's cat looked like he’d gone through hell, with cut's throughout his entire body, and blood staining his fur. Rose patted him softly on the head and gave me a weak smile. Sinclair ran up to me and climbed onto my lab, fortunately, he didn't look too bad.

"They found us," Rose said softly.

"They did...I wonder how they..."

Rose shook her head. And that's when I heard the footsteps from the flight of stairs. I looked at the doorway and a woman emerged. She was wearing full body armor with an M16 slung over her shoulder.

"You have some good animals there. They were the ones that helped us find you guys." She paused and looked at both Rose and me, "You guys are lucky to be alive."

I cleared my throat, my brain trying to make sense of what was going on and who the woman was.

The woman gave me a gentle smile. "My name's Clem. And I'm here to take you guys to Unity."

In hostility In prosperity Nothing seems real But so the time reels With nothing so clear Cannons yell fear But peace was intent Others wouldn’t see what it meant With water boiling through Miles seem true

Continuation of Mile 72