ZOMB-POCALYPSE

Chapter Fifteen

My reaction is instantaneous. I barely get the door open before I'm on my knees and vomiting onto the concrete.

Ryan comes racing out of the truck and stands over me, desperately scanning the landscape for zombies.

I finish retching and stand on shaky legs to see if we're surrounded by hundreds of thousands of the dead—ready to eat us because of my stupidity.

But it's a surprisingly bleak landscape that greets me, empty of anything living. or dead.

As Ryan and I stand in the middle of the road, I get the horrible feeling that we are the only two people left alive in the entire world.

Tears prick my eyes. I knew this was a shot in the dark, but now that feeling of hope is taken away from me, laying bare the bitter pain of loss.

"What happened here?" I ask. It comes out as a gasp because the pain is constricting my airway. My parents are dead. Now I know how Abby felt, only I will never get to know what happened.

Ryan looks around at the military barricades blocking our path into what used to be the city. "They must have bombed it to keep the dead from spreading out. There would have been so many zombies..." he trails off like he can't believe his eyes either.

"How can they just bomb New York City?" The words are bitter, and they explode from my mouth before I can hold them back.

"They must not have any hope left that things could return to normal," Ryan says quietly. I know that he is trying to be strong for me, but he's struck by the horror too, and it isn't much comfort.

"There had to have been people left alive in the city when they..." I can't even bring myself to say it.

I turn my head into the cold steel of the truck and sob. Ryan tries to hold me, but I shake him off. This is a pain like nothing I've ever experienced before. Being touched by him is just too much to bear right now. Nothing in this world can make me feel better.

The sound of a siren blaring brings my face off the truck. I spin around to find that Ryan is also looking around for the source of the noise.

The siren cuts out, and then a crackling sound replaces it. "Civilians. This is Major Groves. I am addressing you from the loudspeaker bolted to the power pole on your left." Both of our eyes search out and find the small, grey box with a camera mounted to the top of it. They look like new additions.

"If you have not been infected with the virus, we can offer you asylum. First, you will need to back track down the highway four point six miles. Turn left and drive in a straight line ten miles until you hit the docks on the edge of the Hudson River. My soldiers will be waiting for you." The voice crackles out, and then there is only silence.

"Hello?" I call, but there is no answer.

"Hey!" I scream up at the box—but again—nothing.

"I think we should go and see what they're offering," Ryan says after a few silent moments spent watching me rage at the box.

I have a vague fear that this might be a trap of some kind, but curiosity is getting the better of me.

I nod numbly and climb into the vehicle. Ryan flips a U-turn right in the middle of the highway and starts heading back in the opposite direction. I see him reset the odometer trip calculator to zero so he will know when we've gone the right distance.

He locates the turn without any problem. Now that we are looking for it, we realize that someone has painted a neon orange arrow across the road sign.