Skylar stood at the edge of the roof, breath steaming out into the cold air, and judged the distance between the building he was standing on and the one next door. Chewing lightly on his bottom lip, he leaned out to peek down into the alleyway between the two buildings, trying to decide if a fall would kill him outright or only leave him crippled and waiting to be picked off. A scuffling sound from behind him decided him and he backed up, taking a deep breath before bolting forward and launching himself off the edge of the building.
He landed hard on the opposite roof and rolled, wincing a little as gravel embedded itself in his bare palms. He pushed himself up onto his knees and picked at the gravel, his fingers clumsy with the cold; but at least he was so numb he couldn’t feel any pain. Growls rose into the air behind him and he hurriedly got to his feet. His pursuers hadn’t demonstrated much intelligence but he had no wish to stick around and see if they could jump roofs too. Limping a bit, he headed for the fire escape and inspected the shadows around it closely before starting down.
His boots clanked on the metal and he winced again, sure that he would attract everything within a ten-mile radius. He jumped the last few feet and took off running again, using all the tricks he’d picked up through years of living on the streets to throw off anything following him. Back then he’d thought the worst he could run into were cops, drug dealers, and the occasional bleeding heart, but that had been before the city had gone insane.
He made it safely back to the house he’d claimed as his own after the city had disintegrated into destruction that put most riots to shame. It was a relief to let himself inside and he sagged back against the door after locking it, taking deep breaths to try and relax his tense muscles. He’d left most of the lights on when he left that morning but he flicked on a few more as he wandered down the hall to the kitchen, until the entire house was blazing. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that the new human race preferred the dark.
He’d gone out to scrounge up some food from a nearby store, and now he set the bag on the counter so he could go through it later. Shrugging out of his sleeveless vest, he draped it over the back of a chair and picked up his baseball bat from beside the fridge. With his other hand he took a butcher knife out of the block on the kitchen counter and went through his nightly ritual of searching the house from top to bottom for anyone—or anything—that had gotten in while he was out. Eventually, satisfied that he was still alone, he returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table to eat, leaning the baseball bat against his leg so it was within easy reach.
As he ate, he examined his palms where the gravel had scraped the skin. Already the scrapes were smaller and less red, as though they were a few days old. He’d only discovered his body’s new healing ability the day before, when he’d accidentally sliced his finger open while trying to cut some cheese for lunch. That injury was almost completely gone now, leaving only a thin pink line to mark where it had been. He traced it with his thumb then shook his head; until he got the urge to start eating people he was just going to count himself lucky to be alive.
He finished his meal and got up to put the rest of the food away. The power was out over most of the rest of the city but he’d chosen this house in large part because it had a generator in the basement, along with enough gas to keep it running for a while. The lights made the place obvious to anything wandering around outside but he was willing to risk it in the hopes that it would attract rescue. He refused to believe that he was the only one left in this area, let alone in the world.
A ticking noise at the window over the sink made him spin on his heel, his breath catching in his throat. He could see nothing from where he was standing by the fridge, but as he cautiously walked closer, he saw it had begun to snow, hard flakes that the wind was throwing against the glass. He watched it for a few minutes, until a sudden violent shiver snapped him out of his almost hypnotized state. Rubbing at arms suddenly covered with goosebumps, he went upstairs to curl up under his blankets with a book.
Gradually his eyes drifted closed and the book dropped from his limp fingers onto his chest. Outside, the wind swirled snow around, covering the dead ground with a layer of white. Skylar shifted and turned onto his side, the book sliding off to land on the carpet with a muffled thump. The noise pulled him half from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to look blearily around. The lamp on the bedside table had gone off and in the dim moonglow leaking in through the window, the room looked strange and unfamiliar, objects twisted up into shapes that were disturbingly human.
He pushed the blankets down just enough to reach out and fiddle with the lamp, muttering a curse as the switch clicked uselessly; the bulb had blown out. Rolling out from under the blankets, he made his way downstairs again to check his supplies. He was low enough on lightbulbs to warrant another trip out into the cold, though he’d been planning to hole up for a few days. He took one to replace the bulb in the bedside lamp and walked back upstairs, covering a series of heavy yawns. By the time he’d changed the bulb out and cuddled up under the blankets again, he was so sleepy that it took him only seconds to drift away.
He woke the next morning still huddled under his blankets, cocooned in their warmth. Gingerly poking his head out of the pile, he made a face at the cold air then grudgingly untangled himself and got out of bed. Remembering the snow that had startled him so much in the kitchen, he padded over to the window to take a look outside.
The snow lay in an unbroken white carpet, covering all the city’s little imperfections, rounding them gently and sparkling in the cold morning sunlight. Skylar stood and looked at it for a long time, then pulled himself away with a shiver and hurriedly pulled warm clothes on before going downstairs. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and stood at the counter to eat it, staring into nothing as he went over the day’s plan.
When he was done he dropped the bowl in the sink and gathered his gear, pulling on a heavy winter coat and gloves before ducking out into the cold. He gathered his sled from its storage spot in the garage and set off into the city proper, glancing around warily as he walked. He saw fresh footprints in the new snow as he approached the nearest plaza, and a long streak of blood in the alley between two towering apartment buildings, but the morning remained quiet and still.
By noon he was finished gathering supplies and had loaded them all onto the sled, lashing them down tightly with cords taken from the nearby hardware store. As he started back towards the house he saw the clouds had thickened and darkened, promising another storm. Within a few minutes snow began to spiral down again, thick fat flakes that swiftly began to add another layer to the snow already on the ground. The wind gusted and Skylar ducked his head against it, hiding his chin in the collar of his coat and pulling his hood further over his head. The temperature dropped steadily until it had numbed his nose and made it hard to breathe, and turned the heavy flakes into spits of ice.
Skylar stopped and raised a hand to protect his eyes as he looked up at the clouds, breathing hard with the exertion of pulling the sled through the snow and icy air. Instinct told him to find shelter as quickly as he could and he obeyed it, heading straight for what had once been Casey’s Bar, one of those institutions of higher drinking that people ended up in at the end of the night without quite realizing why. Skylar had just liked it because the regular bartender had been a no-nonsense woman with fire-engine red hair and tattoos all over her body, who nonetheless often slipped him food out the back door. He wondered what had happened to her as he yanked the sled in over the threshold, then decided he didn’t want to know.
The building was small and it didn’t take him long to make sure it was completely empty as well. He left the sled by the long bar—which had once been brightly polished and was now marred by several long scratches in the smooth wood—and went into the back room, stepping around a patch of dried blood. The desk and filing cabinet had been overturned, their contents scattered in a haphazard fashion, but otherwise the damage was minimal. Skylar glanced through a handful of papers but found nothing more interesting than bills and receipts. Getting up from his crouch, he kicked absently through the remains of the big wooden desk, and paused as something shiny caught his eye.
He used his foot to push aside a chunk of wood and leaned down to pick up a small pendant on a slim silver chain, holding it up so it rotated gently in the dim light. It looked like a ring of steel, beaten flat and inscribed with lettering that he couldn’t quite make out without a stronger light. After a moment’s hesitation, he put it around his neck and dropped it beneath his shirt, shivering a little at the cold metal against his bare skin; but it warmed quickly and he soon forgot about it as he went back out to keep an eye on the storm.
It was getting close to sunset when the storm eased enough for him to risk going out in it again, to get back to the warmth of his house before the creatures began to stir in the dark. He moved as quickly as he could, hauling the sled along behind him, and breathed a sigh of relief when he made it safely inside. After the ritual of checking the house and turning on all the lights, he unpacked the sled and made himself dinner, sitting down at the table to eat it.
A loud crash outside startled him out of his thoughts, making him jump like a startled cat. He turned a wide-eyed look towards the front door—still shut tightly and locked—and pushed his plate away, listening intently and wondering if he really had just heard a car crash into something. After a moment he got up and went to the closet, standing on tiptoe to take down the gun case on the top shelf. He carefully assembled the weapon and filled his pockets with cartridges, hoping he still remembered how to use it properly.
He snagged a flashlight from the kitchen counter and went to the door, holding his breath to listen before cautiously easing it open. The sun was a barely visible red eye just slipping below the horizon and shadows grew long from the buildings, blending into the coming darkness. In its baleful glow the sky looked painted with fresh blood. Breathing shallowly, Skylar flicked the safety off on the rifle and stepped out, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The street in front of the house was empty but when he walked around to the side, he saw fresh tire tracks in the slush on the road. He started to follow them then froze as a shadow flitted out from beside one of the other houses and ran in swiftly jagged movements along the path of the tire tracks. It didn’t appear to notice him but it was still nearly a full minute before he could master the trembling in his legs enough to keep going, and he kept his finger lightly on the gun’s trigger.
He saw the tracks in the snow where the car had skidded, and spotted the hulk of it further down the road, its hood caved in around a lamppost. Growling shadows skulked around the car but it had grown too dark for him to see what had happened to the occupants. Taking a deep and steadying breath, Skylar shifted his grip on the shotgun and swung it up to aim, then flicked on the flashlight in his other hand.
The nearest creatures, hunched caricatures of the humans they had once been, spun to face him, gaping mouths twisted in snarls. He shone the flashlight directly into their eyes and fired, hitting one of them high in the chest and tearing both its ragged shirt and the pale skin beneath into shreds. He didn’t wait to see if the shot took it down; as the others lunged at him, he spun on his heel and ran, the sound of the shotgun blast still echoing in his ears.
Shoving the flashlight down his pants, he slung the gun over his shoulder by its strap and leaped up to catch the lowest branch of a nearby tree. He kicked his legs up and hooked them over another branch, unaware that he was whimpering as he pulled himself up into the branches even as fingers slid across his back in an attempt to find purchase. The whimper became a yelp of fear and he climbed so fast he was in danger of slipping on the wet, snowy bark. He didn’t pause when he reached the branch he was aiming for, using it instead as a bridge to the roof of the house next to it.
He ran across the roof, slipping a little in the snow and catching himself on the chimney. He paused there to listen, clutching at it like a drowning man, and squinted into the darkness to try and see if they had managed to follow him. He could hear them snuffling and growling by the tree but none of them tried to come up after him, and after a moment he carefully climbed down the other side and ran back towards the car.
He hesitated a little in the shadows beside one of the house, watching the car; but the creatures had all joined the chase, no longer smart enough to remember how to divide and conquer. He still swung the shotgun down into his hand again as he approached, then let it go when nothing leaped out at him. Pulling the flashlight form his pants, he covered the lens with one hand so that when he turned it on only a little light filtered through his fingers, and opened the passenger side door.
“Hi,” he said softly to the pale passenger. “Come on, out.” He helped the young man out, casting quick glances back over his shoulder, handed the flashlight over, and went around to help the driver, who seemed unsteady on his feet. Slinging an arm around the tall man’s waist, he urged them in a staggering run towards the safety of the house.
They had reached the foot of the driveway when Skylar heard something snarl behind him. Untangling himself hurriedly from the tall man, he spun and brought the shotgun up. The creature leaped at him and he fired, already backing up even as the blast spun it halfway around. He briefly noticed that it didn’t bleed, then he spun on his heel and bolted for the front door.
He skidded as he leaped into the front hallway, losing his footing and falling hard on his backside. He let go of the gun automatically to avoid accidentally pulling the trigger, and heard the door slam shut behind him. For a moment he just sat on the damp tile floor, hugging himself and trying to slow his breathing down.
“Are you okay?” The younger of the two strangers crouched down beside him, dark eyes worried.
“I’m good.” Skylar picked himself up and offered a hand, proud that it barely trembled. “I’m Skylar. Sky, if you want.”
“Robin.” He shook Skylar’s hand and nodded to his companion, who had dropped down on the bench in the hallway and put his head in his hands. “That’s Shia.”
“Is he okay?” Skylar went over and gently lifted the man’s head. Shia’s face was an ashen grey and sweat stood out on his brow. He offered Skylar a weak smile, blinking painfully in the hallway light.
“Don’t worry about me.” Shia sat back, pulling free of Skylar’s hand, and rubbed at his eyes.
“He said he fell and hit his shoulder, but he wouldn’t let me look at it,” Robin volunteered.
“He’ll let me look.” Skylar caught Shia’s hands as the man tried to push him away. “I saved your life. Let me look.” Taking Shia’s grunt as assent, he pulled Shia’s shirt over his head and gently unwound the bandages around his shoulder, making a ‘tsk’ noise when he saw the inflamed flesh surrounding the deep gash in Shia’s dark skin.
“It’ll heal on its own,” Shia started.
“Oh shut up.” Skylar placed his hands lightly over the gash and tried to figure out what he was actually going to do. He didn’t know how he was healing himself, let alone how he would transfer that to another person. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and just concentrated on the feeling of fever heat and swollen flesh under his palms.
For long moments nothing happened and he started to think the effort was wasted; he’d only look like a fool and he didn’t think he had the supplies to treat such an obviously infected wound. Then coolness flowed through him, starting in his head and sliding down his spine, moving down his arms until it puddle in his hands. He forced himself to stay relaxed and let the coolness flow into Shia, memorizing the sensation in the hopes that he would be able to repeat it. Excitement quivered in his belly and he desperately hoped he wasn’t just imagining the sensation of the gash pulling itself back together beneath his hands.
He opened his eyes a little, just enough to peek through his lashes, and saw his hands glowing with a deep, pure white light. Colour had come back into Shia’s face already and his eyes had lost the glint of fever. When Skylar pulled his hands back the gash looked more like a months-old scar and the skin around it was cool and smooth. Skylar placed a hand against Shia’s forehead and waited until he felt only the warmth of human skin before letting go. Gradually the white glow faded from his fingers, leaving him feeling blissfully relaxed and satisfied. Smiling, he started to stand up, but his knees buckled and a wave of dizziness washed over him.
He didn’t even feel himself hit the floor.
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