Seven

“Hey,” she says. I’m passing by a big bit of wreckage–part of a tower block that has fallen, cleanly, still intact, onto the ground. Broken windows punctuate its surface, and I can look inside and see a slew of desks, monitors and tables piled up inside. She is right there, smeared grey with dirt and dust so that she blends right in. She’s sitting in a little alcove formed by the fallen building, her back against the wall.

I stop where I am and we both look at each other. She’s on one side of the road and I’m on the other. She blinks warily. I swallow. “Hey.”

It’s so strange, all of a sudden, to be confronted by this. What do you say? What can you possibly say? I feel exposed just standing there in the road, so I move over towards her. I keep my hands held up, like I’m surrendering.

“Are you hurt?” I ask. She shakes her head. Looks at me and licks her lips.

“Are you with the army?” she says.

“No. I’m just . . . I’m nobody.”

“Oh.” She looks down. “I’ve been waiting for them to come. Come and rescue us. All the survivors, you know. But it’s been days. I thought . . .”

I don’t know what to say. I scan the sky. Then she says, “where have you been living?”

“A place,” I say. “Block of flats. Few miles away. I’m going home right now.”

“Oh. Where’s home?”

I point down the street. She looks, then looks down again. “There are fires that way,” she says. I’ve been able to see the smoke for miles, even feel the light feathering of falling ash. Somewhere the meteor fires must still be alight. “It’s not safe,” says the girl.

“I’ve got to go. I just . . . I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

She nods, still not quite looking at me. “I’ve been trying to get out of the city. You know. It might not be so bad in the countryside.”

“I’m going home.” Saying it makes it seem more possible. Makes me think of my house and Sharon and the way the world used to be.

“Have you seen anyone else?”

“There was a kid . . . but he . . . well, no. Nobody.”

The girl nods quickly. “I’m coming with you.” She stands up with her back still against the wall, awkward. Despite what she said earlier, I wonder if maybe she is hurt somehow.

“It’s not far,” I say.

“I’m coming with you,” she says again. We’re standing quite close to each other now. I can see the small cuts and bruises on her arms and face. I can see the patches of pale skin around her eyes where she’s wiped away the dirt. I know I must look the same, or worse.

She extends a hand. “My name’s Lisa by the way.”

“David,” I say. Then, strangely, we shake hands. As if the world around us hasn’t crumbled into dust.