It can’t be real.

“What the hell…?” Chris says, doing a full circle. “What the hell is this?”

I look down at my feet and notice something else. The pavement is streaked with the same sticky blood that covered the sidewalk on the overpass.

Chris suddenly turns to me, a look of hard anger on his face.

“This is no accident,” he states.

I stare, knowing that I’m shaking like a leaf.

“Cassidy,” he says, his tone making it sound like a question. “Look at me.”

I can’t. I’m just smelling the blood, seeing the blood, looking at the bodies lined up  - no, piled — on the boulevard. I always thought seeing gross stuff would be easy to handle. But this? No.

Chris walks up to me and places his hands on the sides of my face.

“Look. At. Me.” It’s not a request.

I barely managed to lift my eyes up to meet his — not quite as emotionless as I would have expected. Instead, his expression is soft. “Say something, kid,” he says, stroking my cheek. “Look at me.”

“What happened?” I say, monotone.

“I don’t know.”

He searches my face for a long time before turning me around. He laces his fingers through mine and pulls me forward, purpose in each step.

“What…where are we going?” I stutter, still shocked.

“Whatever happened here,” Chris says, shoving a few loose strands of hair away from his face, “was not an accident. It was a systematic extermination.”

“By who?”

He shrugs. Obviously neither of us can answer that one, but chances are that whoever did this was the same group of sickos that hit our world with an EMP.

“What about shelter?” I say, by this time jogging across the overpass.

“Not here. This blood is fresh. This didn’t happen more than twenty-four hours ago,” Chris points out. “Look at this trail of blood. People were lined up and wiped out.”

I start to hyperventilate.

“Oh. My. God.” I cover my mouth with my hand, more food coming up my throat. “Is this some kind of nightmare? This isn’t real, right?”

Chris rubs his chin, assessing my freak-out moment.

“This is real,” he says at last. Firm. “And we’re going to be okay. Got that?”

I nod, numb.

He takes me hand again and we walk down the onramp. I start to notice how buildings along the freeway have broken windows. Some of the glass is black — like it had been blown up from within. The freeway is also covered with funny black marks. Not tire marks. Something else.

Chris notices this, too, but if he’s thinking that it’s suspicious he keeps it to himself. We walk along in silence, hyperaware of every single sound. Are the killers still lurking nearby? Who in their right mind could possibly be responsible for this? This is the United States of America, for crying out loud.

Things like this?

They just don’t happen.

Sometime after dark, the storm hits. I’ve stopped keeping track of time since it’s kind of useless when you’re just dragging yourself down mile after mile of bland interstate, knowing that there might be another sea of dead people at the next rest stop.

Not exactly what I would call luxury traveling.

Chris and I take shelter in an abandoned SUV on the side of the road. The entire backseat folds down and creates a spacious tent. We crawl inside, dripping all over the upholstery. I note with sadness that there is a basket of baby toys inside.

I wonder what happened to the passengers in this car.

Pit pat, pit pat. The raindrops seem extra loud without any background noise. I sit with my knees against my chest, cold, wet and hungry. Chris looks unhappy as he shrugs off his leather jacket, totally ruined by the rain. After a few minutes of sitting in silence he finally says, “There’s an explanation.”

I blink.

“What?”

“Those bodies,” he continues. “There’s an explanation for how they got there.”

“Of course there is. I just don’t want to think about it.” I comb back my sopping hair with my fingers. “It obviously wasn’t our side.”

Chris doesn’t answer.

“I mean, it wasn’t our side, right?” I press.

“How should I know?” he shrugs.

“You’re in the military, that’s why!” I exclaim, trying to get my jacket to cinch tighter. It’s a no-go. “You should know these things. My dad would.”

Chris shakes his head.

“I haven’t been active duty for a year,” he says, propping his head against the backpack. “There’s a lot I wouldn’t know. I’m not in the loop anymore.”

“Gee, you’re real helpful, aren’t you?” I make a face.

Chris declines to fling a sarcastic remark right back at me, making me feel slightly childish. I mean, I he could at least try.

At any rate, I unroll the camping blanket from my backpack and spread it over my legs, trying to conserve heat. I doubt there’s any heat left on this side of the planet, though. It got sucked out with people’s sanity forty-eight hours ago.

Forty-eight hours. Is that all it’s been?

I curl up in a tight ball, only a foot of space between Chris and me. In any other situation I would think this was awkward, but I’m so miserable I don’t care.

Chris falls asleep almost instantly. I’m guessing after nine years of being a Navy Seal you can sleep through anything — even the end of the world. It takes me a little bit longer to stop my shivering. When I finally drop off I have weird dreams about all the dead people at the rest stop, so I force myself to wake back up.

I’m surprised to find that it’s already early morning. It’s still raining, unfortunately. I curse the rain gods and make a move to sit up, feeling something heavy around my waist.

Oh, snap.

Chris’s arms are wrapped around my waist, pressing my back against his chest. No wonder I was so warm. Embarrassed, I lower myself down and pretend I’m asleep as he stirs. I don’t want to be awake when he realizes he and I had a cuddle fest all night.

Awkward…

“Cassie?” he whispers, shifting. “What time is it?”

I freeze, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.

“I know you’re awake,” he continues, lifting himself up on one arm. “Don’t deny it.”

I roll my eyes.

“I just woke up, genius. And you can let go.”

“Why? Aren’t you warm?” He smiles against my ear, keeping his grip firm.

“No,” I mutter, extricating myself from his embrace.

“I did it for you,” he smirks, shaking his hair out of his ponytail. “I thought you’d appreciate not turning into a human Popsicle during the night.”

“Whatever,” I retort. “You don’t have to be weird about it.”

“I’m not the one being weird about it. You are.”

I shoot him my most menacing glare before rolling up my blanket, stuffing it into my backpack with force. Not because I’m mad at him for cozying up to me during the night, but because I liked the way it felt.

Great. The end of the world is turning me into a desperate idiot.

I zip my pack up and take a look around the freeway through the tinted windows of the SUV. There’s still not a soul in sight. Just a bunch of stupid rainclouds and screwed up vehicles.

“Exactly how are we supposed to get to Squaw Valley on foot?” I say, giving voice to the thought that has been at the forefront of my mind ever since we lost my beautiful Mustang. “Because that could be a long, long stroll in the Winter. Besides, I don’t even think I have enough food in my pack to last that long.”

“It’s about two hundred miles away, right?” Chris replies.

“I guess.”

“I’d say if we keep walking every day and make good time, it could take…” he pauses and thinks it over. “Maybe two weeks. If we can do about fifteen miles a day.”

“Do I look like a marathon runner to you?” I say, feeling depressed. “I don’t even lift weights.”