I make my way to the door leading off this roof. I’m relieved when it opens easily. I was worried it would be locked as so many these days are, like my water sources all are. Not that it seems to matter since people still break into them and rob you blind. My temper flares, fueling my aching body with the steam it needs to get down the long flight of stairs, through the seemingly endless corridors and out into the growing morning light.

There are Risen everywhere.

They haven’t spotted me yet. In fact, most are heading toward the building I jumped from, probably answering the siren call of the other Risen still pounding on a door to the rooftop to get to me. But in my current state, openly broken and bleeding all over the road, it won’t take long for them to catch my scent. As it is, I’m bleeding steadily from my arm onto the pavement.

I turn quickly, taking off at a fast pace as I pull the hem of my shirt up high until my left arm is cradled in it against my chest. I ball up the excess fabric in my right fist as much as I can to pin my injured arm in place. I feel tears sting my eyes as what feels like sandpaper against raw nerve screams from my elbow through my entire body. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. To keep from basically waving to the Risen and saying, ‘Hey! Over here! Breakfast is served!’

With my shoddy makeshift sling in painful place, I run. I book it as fast as my sore, sorrowful legs will carry me. I dart down alleys trying to avoid Risen but they’re everywhere. I can’t get away from them and I find eventually that my best bet is to run right down the center of the street dodging them when I have to. Hands reach for me, mouths snap toward me, but it’s nothing I’m not used. I tune it out and focus up. But all the focus in the world can’t make me fast enough to outrun this city.

A Risen tackles me as I try to dart out of the way. She grabs onto different parts of my body as she slides down the side of me while I try to continue to run. I’m using denial again, pretending I absolutely do not have a 130 lbs zombie hanging from my waist right now. Eventually she slips down far enough that I think I’ll escape but she grabs my leg and we both hit the pavement hard. Luckily I’m able to roll onto my back. It’s good news for my busted arm, my face and my life. Never, never, never ever let a Risen get your back. You can’t fight them off, you can’t hold them off. If they get ahold of you from behind in any way, especially pinning you to the ground, we’ll all miss you and say lovely words at your funeral because you’re dead.

She grabs onto the waist of my pants, trying to use it to climb up me but the best she gets is pulling the loose material down my hips slightly. I roll as far as I can away from her then I swing back toward her where she rests on my leg, bringing my free knee up and putting all of my force and momentum behind it. I’m able to crack her right in the face, stunning her enough to scurry back, clearing my feet from her grasp. I’m in no condition to fight her any more than this so I roll over on my good arm and use it to help hoist me up onto my feet. My nearly useless sling is now completely useless so I cradle my left arm with my right, noticing some interesting textures there and doing everything I can to not think about what I’m touching. Then I run.

I run until my lungs burn. I run until my legs are rubber. I run until the Risen have thinned and I have a chance to stop for two seconds to try to catch my breath so I can run some more. The only good thing about today so far is that it’s just that; day. I can see. I have landmarks to tell me where I’m heading and whether or not I’m running in blind circles surrounded by a sea of Risen. I’m still really far from home. Maybe too far. I might have to take up residence in one of these buildings soon, definitely before nightfall.

I know I need to get moving but I can’t. I can feel it in my entire bitter body. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten and I’m fading fast. I need water soon for sure and a bandage or fifty would be nice too.

“You don’t want to stop here,” a voice calls quietly from down a dark alley nearby.

I jump to attention, nearly leaping out of my ruined skin.

“This is The Eleven’s territory,” he continues. “They’ll eat you alive.”

He’s nothing but a motionless shadow wrapped in darkness. A vague form inked in black on black paper.

“Are you one of them?” I demand, sounding fiercer than I feel.

“No.”

“Then you shouldn’t be here either. Why don’t we both leave and no one has to get hurt?”

“I thought you wanted me to come.”

I scowl, thoroughly confused. “What?”

“Your signal.”

The trowel. The light.

“You saw it?”

A figure steps out slowly, emerging from the shadows by degrees. Tall, blond hair. Kind of gangly. But it’s his eyes that I notice more than anything. They’re razor sharp, slicing my momentary strong façade to shreds. He sees it. He sees how broken I am. Because he sees everything.

Trent.

“Didn’t you want me to see it?” he asks softly.

I hesitate, unsure. I did want him to see it. But now that he’s here I’m not so sure. His eyes are too intent on my face. His demeanor is too calm considering our situation. He’s knee deep in another gang’s territory, there are Risen everywhere around us and yet he stands there casual as can be as though the world never went all out Daffy Duck a decade ago. I could sense it when I saw him in the woods, but now standing in front of him with his eerie eyes on me, I’m burning with it. This guy is completely and utterly unnerving in every way.

My hesitation has drawn out to over a minute, I’m sure of it, yet he says nothing. His stance, his gaze; none of it changes as he waits for me to respond. We’ve gone well beyond the norm of social convention, even in the apocalypse, and I’m starting to feel twitchy. These days, time is living and we’re wasting a whole lot of it staring at each other like idiots out here in the open.

“I did,” I say too quietly. I straighten my aching back and try again. “I did want you to see it. I thought…”

“You thought what?”

God, his tone is even. Like a machine. The way my father’s alarm clock used to sound. It. Is. Now. 6. 30. In. The. Morn. Ing. Rise. And. Shine.

“I thought you might help me.”

“Why would I do that?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

His mouth twitches ever so slightly. “What do you need?”

Isn’t that the question? I need a bed to sleep in. I need water to drink. I need food to eat. I need help with my beaten body. I need Crenshaw is what I need.

“I need you to take me to Ryan,” I say firmly.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t show much of anything.

“What do you need with Ryan?”

“Good, so you admit you know him.”

“What would be the point in denying it?”

“Does that mean I can stop pretending I don’t know your name, Trent?”

“Apparently it does.”

This time he allows a grin. It changes his face entirely. He goes from the intense, horrifying robot boy that was giving me chills to a young man with a nice smile. The instant transformation is creepier than anything else about him so far. It’s too sudden, too extreme. Like watching a mask come off only to find the person underneath is not who you expected at all.

“You know who I am too, don’t you?” I ask, taking a gamble.

The grin disappears. Robo Boy is back. “I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Joss.”

He nods in understanding. That’s it. No other response.

“You’ve seen me before, haven’t you?”

“I’ve seen everyone before.”

“I believe it,” I say wholeheartedly. “You saw them take me.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve seen me with Ryan.”

“Several times.”

“Does he know what happened to me?”

“Yes.”

“Because you told him?”