Two are better than one,

Because they have a good reward for their toil.

For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow.

But woe to him who is alone when he falls,

And has not another to lift him up!

ECCLESIASTES 4:9-10

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"Oh my god, you're a medical miracle!" Helmer exclaimed as he and Samael picked their way through the desolate city. "You've somehow survived all this time!"

Samael didn't respond, focusing all of his attention on keeping his footing, avoiding lumps of rubble and stepping over mounds of debris. This particular street with littered with wreckage. He didn't spare the rotting corpses a second glance, which seemed odd to Helmer before he remembered Samael was in a hospital when everything went to crap. He had definitely seen his fair share of bodies.

They passed a carcass of a man. His ribcage had been ripped open by dogs, his organs scattered around to be pecked at by crows. His entrails would attract the insects soon. Helmer knew it was pointless, but he covered his mouth with his sleeve in a vain attempt to smother the stench.

"Please talk to me," Helmer complained as he clambered over the hood of a Prius that had t-boned another car. He grabbed the IV pole and helped Samael down, wincing every time his bare feet touched the burning pavement. "I haven't talked to anyone besides a teddy bear and a possum. Stuffed toys and rodents don't make good companions."

"Possums are marsupials," Samael said offhandedly, as if he hadn't been silent beforehand. "And Sam is fine."

"You talk!" Helmer whooped. Sam flinched, and he rubbed his arm sheepishly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Sam said. "I just haven't been out of that place in awhile. It was quiet in there." His pale fingers drummed against the metal pole. They lapsed into comfortable silence.

Questions brewed in his mind, but Helmer didn't want to overwhelm the poor guy so soon after he was liberated from the hospital. He wondered how Sam could be startled from his voice and not from the horrid squealing of the wheels on the IV pole.

Helmer tried not to make Sam uncomfortable with his prying. "So when did you know you were different from other people? Not the albinism, but the immunity."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I kind of knew I was different from the start."

"I can relate."

"You can't." Sam's grip tightened on the metal. "You really can't." His shoulders were tensed, his face unreadable. "I'm not going into detail about what they did to me in there, but I'm pretty sure the government was involved to keep the staff quiet, because if my mom knew..." He threw back his head and laughed boldly, then started crying. He bit his lip so hard he broke skin, trying to stifle his sobs. His knees wobbled, and he leaned heavily on the IV pole to stay upright.

Helmer sighed. In one swift movement, he swept Sam off his feet and into his arms, and began carrying him bridal style. He seriously hoped Sam wasn't contagious as he tried to ignore the black handprint that was dangerously close to his face.

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Dusk was approaching when Helmer reached the old church, his arms surprisingly okay from carrying a teenage boy for several miles, but then again, Sam was so light it was concerning. His ribs jutted out almost painfully, and sometime during the trip, the kid had fallen asleep, his thin fingers bundled up in Helmer's shirt, and he felt pity beyond what he'd ever experienced before as he stepped into the church.

Shirley met him with a hiss, scrambling away from him with gusto. Helmer ignored him and set him on the couch. He noticed Sam's cracked and peeling lips, and how he trembled in his sleep.

Helmer grabbed three pews, in three separate trips, and pressed them together to form a makeshift bed. If Sam didn't wake up before sundown, he'd just had to sleep on the pews.

Helmer was so desperate for human contact, he had forgotten how foolish it was to take in another person. That meant more mouths to feed, and he was already running low. Sam needed more nutrients to sustain himself, and he probably also required medication, which meant a trip to the hospital. Helmer would also have to search for clothes, because it didn't seem practical to walk around in a hospital gown all the time, and New York could get frigid in the winter.

He draped a blanket over Sam, hoping that everything would work out and he wouldn't have to watch the kid waste away. Then, Helmer washed his face and hung up his clothes from the day before to dry. When he came back in, Sam was sitting up, admiring the stained glass.

"You live here?"

"Shirley and I," Helmer answered, pointing at the indignant possum, who did not seem happy with the addition of a third guest.

"It's cozy," Sam said. "Much nicer than the hospital."

"I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," said Helmer, sitting down on the pews/bed. "You think we're the only ones left?"

"We can't be," Percy murmured. "7 billion people, 7 continents. There has to be some people like us, and it might not have spread past America at all."

"Do you think Washington D.C is still operating?" When Sam shrugged, Helmer continued enthusiastically, "We could bring you there. Maybe they can use your immunity to create a vaccine! You could save so many lives!"

Sam scowled. "If you're suggesting I hand myself over to a bunch of doctors to voluntarily have needles stuck in me day and night, you can count me out."

"I understand," Helmer said quickly. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He felt an odd surge of protectiveness for the guy.

"How can you be sure?" Sam asked, lacing his fingers and staring down at his lap. "How do you know what they'll do?"

"Wouldn't it be worth it to save people?" Helmer inquired. "It's not like it'd be in vain."

"But what if it was?" Sam snapped. His eyes looked like a stormy sea. "What if I'd only be saving a handful of people? What if there aren't enough people left to be worth saving?"

"You don't know that," Helmer said, recoiling. "You seemed hopeful. What changed?"

Sam's stony expression radiated hostility, so Helmer reluctantly dropped the subject.

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Sam handed him a slip of paper the next day. "This is a list of the stuff I need from the hospital and clothing sizes."

Helmer knew he couldn't pronounce half of what was on the list, but Sam had provided helpful descriptions of the colors and sizes of the bottles for him. "And what'll you do when I'm gone?"

Sam shrugged. "Make this place more homey. This is a permanent base camp, right? You don't move around?"

"No," Helmer agreed.

"I think I may go on a foraging trip myself." At Helmer's aghast look, Sam rolled his eyes. "I won't be going far. I'll see if I can get more furniture or a carpet."

"How will you move it?" Helmer couldn't help but glance at his scrawny arms and torso.

"Don't underestimate me."

So Helmer shrugged and set out.

The crows and vultures had long since realized wherever Helmer went, food followed, and now the horrible birds cackled madly on telephone poles, chittering mockingly in the skies above. He waved the baseball bat menacingly and they scattered, but kept tailing him in the skies.

He searched intensely for clothing, no longer skimming but actually searching, and hit jackpot in a souvenir shop filled with plastic snow-globes sold next to flip-flops. The rats had found the cashier, and now only a few bits of ragged flesh clung to the bare skeleton sitting at the counter. He took everything he could fit in his bag, from several 'I ♥ NY' hoodies, floral patterned T-shirts, sweaters, and hats, to cheap flashlights and even some sandals, until he could find Sam some real shoes. When his half of his bags were brimming with tourist crap, he took off to Walmart.

The dogs were all dead, save for one, probably from the sweltering heat. The sun bore down unrelentlessly, laughing as it scorched the green haven it once nurtured. The lone canine whined pathetically, its tongue lolling and drooling spittle. He weakly pawed at the fence, and Helmer used a knife to put him out of his misery.

To Helmer's dismay, he had completely depleted the supplies at Walmart.

Thankfully, a Farmer's Market existed a few blocks away, which he took advantage of. He grabbed every non-perishable item his eyes landed on: canned vegetables, chip bags, even bottles of honey. Anything sealed was fair game. His bags were so heavy now, they bumped the ground and dragged as he walked. His arms burned from the effort, and he was forced to stop every few minutes.

With a wave of dread, he realized it was time to visit the hospital. He wrapped a bandana around his face and mentally steeled himself. He left his multitude of bags on the front steps, only carrying within a plastic shopping bag. He pried open the doors and stepped inside.

He choked on the stench, swallowing his bile. He saw patients and nurses bearing black handprints, some slumped over tables and others sprawled in awkward positions on the floor. The halls were dark and foreboding, and he wondered why so many movies had to be centered around creepy old hospitals. That was the root of his apprehension, Helmer decided. Too many horror movies.

Luckily, he didn't encounter any child bodies, which he'd attempted to avoid since day one, though he couldn't unsee the small, unmoving shadows in the backs of cars.

He followed the 'medical storage' sign and stepped into a pitch-black room. He stumbled over corpses in the dark, his dim flashlight an impediment more than an aid. He groped the shelf and squinted at the tiny labels, checking each letter arduously until he was absolutely sure he had the right medicine.

He was about to head back out towards the lobby when something caught his eye.

He turned and his mouth dropped open.

A pale faced woman was propped up against a wall, her arms balanced precariously on door handles to stay upright. A bloodied cross lay across her chest, and her reddened fingers clutched a machete. A severed hand lay a few feet away. Helmer thought he might vomit as he gazed at the wall behind her. Written in blood from her mangled stump was the words:

THE HORSEMEN WALK AMONG US

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He returned to the church in the evening, a few hours away from sunset. Pausing briefly to admire the stained glass, he stepped inside to find it empty, but awash in a warm glow by candlelight. The place actually seemed to be cleaned up a bit, and Helmer looked up to greet Shirley, but the possum was gone. Wow. Sam must have gotten a ladder and forcibly removed the creature, because it probably wouldn't have left under any other circumstances.

"Sam?" he called. "Hello?"

"Back here!"

Helmer walked out to the back, where the garden was, and found Sam sitting in the grass. Beside him stood...

"Is that a horse?"

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