Six

I’m getting within a few streets of my house when I catch sight of the kid. He’s busy sifting through the wreckage of what was once a house, tripping over bricks and girders. His face is covered by a world-war-two style gas mask and he’s dressed in grey-caked shorts and a vest. Something that might or might not be a toy gun is clutched in his hand. He looks so small in the middle of it all, tiny and fragile. It’s been an age since I saw a person who wasn’t just a body.

“Hey,” I call, in a hushed voice. “Hey there.” I don’t want to risk a shout. The kid looks up and freezes and for a moment the flat face of his mask looks like it’s blinking at me. I raise my hand to wave and as if this is a signal the kid twitches and bolts, sliding slightly as he descends the mound of rubble.

“No . . . wait . . .” I take off after him, but by the time I get to where he was he’s out of sight. I glace around, but everywhere looks the same; flat craters and mounds of snapped cement. I don’t want to keep calling for him in case it attracts the Creatures. And, now that I think about it, I’m not entirely sure that gun was a toy.

I set off again, uneasy, my fingers hovering over my own weapon. I wonder how quickly I could draw it, and flick off the safety and do whatever else is necessary to make it fire. Quickly enough? And would a bullet even stop a Creature? I wonder if the kid had parents, or has them still. How many people are there left in this city? How many people are there left in the world?

I’m so preoccupied thinking about this, that I don’t notice the girl until I’ve almost walked right into her.