Get up, get up, get up. I've fallen to my knees, forced down in front of a triumphant city, a landmark, an empire of the modern age. I can't bring myself to stand, though. I feel broken, devastated by what lies before me. From the Hudson River, New York City looks like a dirty, unkempt city without power. But now that I'm closer... I expected to find life here. I expect most people left to the countryside to escape the virus, but really, a virus isn't a war between people, it's a war with yourself. You can't escape disease the way you can escape air raids by moving to open plains and grassy hills. Because if you take it with you, then it stays, it spreads, and the demons no longer only run through the dirt-blanketed streets of cities, they flicker in and out of grass blades, and everything they touch withers and dies. I can imagine fields upon fields of greenery suddenly collapsing, turning black, as though I'm watching a timelapse of a rose withering on Discovery Channel.

Now, I see it clearly. A city in ruins, a city so dead that a breath echoes down the widest streets, pulled along by the ghostly fingers of the dead that lie buried beneath slabs of broken concrete or underneath layers of mud and sediment near the Hudson. My eyes trail up the facade of the building to my right, and I follow its shattered windows and concrete sides up to the sky, where the feet of the city moves to a rich blue that lightens with its proximity to the horizon. The sun flares above me, causing shards of glass to reflect rainbows onto the walls of nearby building like prisms. They're hints of colours that have otherwise disappeared, faded into the grey dust. Red, purple, pink.

I turn into what I recognise as 5th Avenue. The thunk of something heavy falling to the floor. I see it fall, three meters from where I am. A figure, right beside it, thin, tall, preoccupied with something. I lunge for it- and decide I'm not taking any chances. The figure- person, infected- whatever it is, crouches, presumably looking for the rifle.

They turn around- and I almost- almost lower the weapon.

▿

It's a girl. A girl that looks around my age, with bangs that fall into her eyes. Flaming red bangs, dots of freckles across her nose and each cheek, blue-green eyes flecked with dark hazel. She looks harmless, but her expression isn't particularly welcoming.

She moves a hand and wraps it around the barrel of the rifle. "You know, I'd appreciate it if you stopped waving that thing in my face."

I look her up and down; she scowls. Underneath those layers of clothes, I can't tell whether or not she's sick- but the angry flush in her cheeks and the normal alertness in her eyes half-convinces me that she's normal.

"Hello? Are you deaf?"

Definitely normal. I point the rifle to the ground, but keep my finger on the trigger.

"Careful, or you'll shoot yourself in the foot," she says, and throws herself at me with something that glints in her hand. Nothing happens, but when she steps back, looking crestfallen, I look down, and see a pocket knife embedded in my breast.

I raise a brow. "Seriously?" I pull the tiny blade out- and my packet of beef jerky that I'd been rationing myself with falls out from underneath my jacket, the plastic punctuated by the knife.

"Don't- oh my god. Is that honey flavoured?" She asks, and plucks the knife from my hand, crouches down, impales a piece of jerky onto the blade, and pops it into her mouth. "Mmh. Thanks."

I don't know what to make of her- I don't know what her deal is, either. "Who are you?" I ask, giving her a puzzled, and rather annoyed look. I snatch my jerky off the floor and stuff it into a pocket.

She stares at me, just stares, and instead of replying, she turns on her heel, red bangs flying across her face, and runs.

"Hey!" I'm tempted to follow her, but the rifle slows down my movement. It's difficult to carry- the shoulder strap's broken and I hesitate between the rifle and beef jerky girl. In the end, I pick both. I haven't seen a living, breathing, talking thing in weeks, and she's probably my best shot at figuring out what's really going on.

I run after her down fifth avenue, and swear as I nearly lose my footing taking a sharp turn into a more narrow street. "Hey- wait!" I call after her, but she keeps running, taking another turn and landing us on a street parallel to 5th Avenue. She's not going to get far, though. The next road to turn on is blocked by a mass of fallen skyscraper. But she's determined to get away from me, I'll give her that.

I hear a grunt as she starts to climb up over the mound of cracked concrete and sharp scaffolding and pipes that look ready to impale you should you slip. I skid to a halt before the pile and look up at her. "Aren't you going to at least tell me your name?" I say.

"Are you a cannibalistic zombie or are you just annoying?" She calls down, kicking up a cloud of dust and small stones into my face as she pulls herself up onto the next bit of debris.

"If I were a cannibalistic zombie I'd have already shot you," I reply.

"Really? I thought you'd have preferred a more physical approach. Now, either give me the gun back or leave me- the hell- alone." She says, interrupting her speech with sounds of effort as she pulls herself up, eventually standing on top of the pile with her hands on her hips, looking like some sort of conqueror, the breeze that runs through the city making the fabric of her clothes ripple.

Let me propose something, I say, an idea coming into my head. "You help me, and I'll give you the rifle back."

She stares down at me sullenly and kicks a chunk of concrete the size of my fist down at me- which narrowly misses my head and comes to a dull, thudding landing behind me.

"Hey!" I yell.

She's still standing there, now smirking. "If you weren't such an ass in the first place, maybe I wouldn't have done that. So," she continues, crossing her arms over her chest, "what do you need help with?"

"A couple things. My name's Noah," I say, attempting to ease the tension between us- and hoping she doesn't kick another rock at my face. I like my nose, thanks, I don't want it broken.

Dark eyebrows go shooting up into a red hairline, and she starts walking down the pile of debris, being careful enough so she doesn't slip and skewer herself on scaffolding. There's a thunk as she jumps down from a jutting slab of cracked concrete and lands in front of me. "Oh yeah, Noah? So, where's your Ark, then? 'Cause I'm not seeing it."

I have the feeling this is going to be a lot harder than I anticipated.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter of Run- I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry for the lack of the usual graphics (I haven't got my laptop).

don't forget that run is entered in the WATTYS2017, so if you'd like to support it, don't forget to vote, comment your thoughts (did you like it, did you not?), and add Run to your reading lists!!