Brooklyn

I push myself to my feet and examine my palms. They're scraped up from my fall to the hard forest floor. There are bruises too, spotting my arms and probably the rest of my body as well. The soreness in every part of my body is almost enough to distract me from the painful growls of my stomach. Almost.

"Safety first," I tell myself. "And then dinner."

I check the angle of the sun, the way my dad showed me. An hour of daylight left at most. There's a lot of things in the darkness worse than the darkness itself.

While it's still light out, I scale a tree. The rough bark reopens some of the scrapes on my palms, but I ignore the sting. Even though there's only a light breeze, I keep a careful grip on the thin branches.

When I'm settled in, I tie myself to the tree. It would be just my luck to wake up on the ground with a broken leg. And surrounded by a pack of starving wolves.

Speaking of starving, I think, jolting at the loud, sudden sound of my stomach growling. I open my backpack and grimace.

Three water bottles. Two granola bars. And a very expired pack of beef jerky I found a few days ago in an abandoned cabin. My mouth waters at the thought of the jerky. I glance at the setting sun, all but gone now, and sigh. Wolves and other predators will be roaming soon, and the last thing I need is them to scent the meat. Instead, I eat half a granola bar to stop the growling, carefully saving the other half for breakfast tomorrow.

I have enough food and water to last me a day or two. But what about after that?

Time for another supply run, I tell myself, feeling a chill go down my spine at the thought of it. That means houses. Which means towns. Which means danger.

Still tied in, I stand on the branch, clinging to the trunk as I take in my surroundings.

About two or three miles away, I spot some brown and gray shapes that are most likely buildings. I make a mental note to adjust my path accordingly.

If it's a small town, there could be other survivors nearby, I think hopefully. But I know it's just wistful thinking. It's been months since I've seen another human being.

I start to squat back down onto my branch when I hear a couple of wolves howl in the distance. I perk my ears, trying to decipher how far away the sound is. The noise cuts off suddenly. A chill goes down my spine.

Like I often do, I pause to listen.

Silence. I listen harder for the birds that should be chirping and the wind that should be blowing but there is nothing. After another moment in frozen stillness, panic racing through my veins, I hear soft footfalls. A couple minutes pass and I spot a glimpse of him, just fifty yards away, walking through the forest. I can barely see him through the trees. I relax ever so slightly when I realize the head of hair I'm looking at is light brown, not black. Not the same. But dangerous enough, I warn myself. I only see the man from behind as he walks further into the forest, away from me. He walks at a comfortable, unrushed pace, lithe and graceful. I've never understood it, but that's how they all are: beautiful, graceful and deadly.

I watch the distant figure take another step into the trees and then disappear. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Somehow, I've gotten lucky. Again.

And who knows? I think hopefully. Maybe that malefic will run into my monster and they'll have no other options but to kill each other.

But the odds are not in my favor.

After my granola bar breakfast, I start my trek toward the town. It's an hour of wandering before I see a road. I follow it to the outskirts of a small town, broken and abandoned.

The smell hits me first. Then I see the bodies: the torn, mangled ones and the ones wrapped in white sheets and trashbags. The windows are boarded up and the doors broken down. I feel on edge being so out in the open-even the crunch of glass under my feet feels ominously loud.

The town might feel abandoned, but it doesn't matter-I'm not safe anywhere.

Even though I know I need to be on my guard, I avert my eyes from the scene around me. If I look close enough it'll bring back all the horrors from that first month. The body bags lining the streets still carry the strong stench of the plague. Nausea creeps into my stomach as I recall the day that stench filled our house, too-

I cover my mouth with my free hand, gagging. I need to get out of here, I think.

I break into a quiet run, avoiding glass as much as I can. If I'm looking for a place where there might be survivors left, it's not here. And I can find food somewhere else, I lie to myself, my heart racing as the stench strengthens. I keep my head low as I turn onto another empty street.

I hear a crunch and stop running.

Turning my head, I see the man at exactly the same time as he sees me. Without thinking, I jump behind the dumpster next to me and press the butt of my semi-automatic against my shoulder. I flick the safety off, holding my breath. Slowly, I peek out behind the dumpster, looking for the man. He has a gun pointed at me, too, and for a long moment we just stare at each other, neither moving. I do a double take when I realize he's barely old enough to be called a man. Seventeen, maybe eighteen-my age or just a little bit younger-with messy red hair that's almost brown and a kind, nondescript face that looks oddly familiar. He has some faint acne scars-not the perfect skin of the monsters. He doesn't look dangerous. But that doesn't mean he isn't, I remind myself.

I look through the scope and align the center with his chest, ready.

"What are you?" I demand in a hushed voice. Always the question these days-not who are you, but what are you. One of them or human, human or one of them? It seems too obvious, too good to be true.

"I'm human!" He calls back as quietly as he can. His eyes are wide and uncertain-like he doesn't know what to do besides keeping his gun pointed at me. But it could all be a trick. They seem to be getting more cunning. I mull it over for a moment. If he's human, he might kill me. But if he's Malefic, he'll kill me either way, I think. Slowly, I step out from behind the dumpster. My gun still aimed, I take a few steps toward him, my stride steady.

"If you're lying, I'll shoot you," I warn. Impossibly, his eyes get wider.

"I'm human, I swear," he hurries. His eyebrows scrunch together as he studies me. "Aren't you?" His voice is skeptical. He takes a step back. Is this a trick? If he was one of them, is there any reason he'd pretend to be human? Would it be more fun that way? Maybe killing has gotten boring for all of them, not just that dark-eyed one in the woods. Maybe they're evolving-becoming logical. I chuckle internally. That day will never come.

"Yes, I'm human."

He examines my face as if he doesn't quite believe me. And even though he doesn't seem like one of them, I don't quite believe him either. I've learned that intuition can't always be trusted.

"Look," he says, his gun lowering ever so slightly, "we're at a standstill. We'll stay this way forever if neither of us does something."

I raise an eyebrow. He's suggesting one of us shoot?

Cautiously, he turns his gun on safety, sets it down, and kicks it a few feet away.

"If you were Malefic, you wouldn't need a weapon," I point out, my gun still trained on him.

"Yeah, but if that were the case, your gun wouldn't stand a chance and you'd be dead already." He's right. And despite my reservations that it could all be an elaborate act or that he could be one of those humans who murder their own kind, his eyes seem intimidated by me. This could be a huge mistake, I think.

I sigh and lower my gun. He lets out a breath of relief and retrieves his handgun, tucking it firmly in his waistband. Then we both start walking toward each other at the same time.

"What's your name?"

"Adam," he says. "You?"

"Brooklyn," I answer as we shake hands. "It's been a long time since I've seen another human."

"Same here. We almost thought we were the last ones." He laughs. "Clearly not."

"We?" A chill goes down my spine.

"Just me and my brother," he clarifies. "We've been looking for others. For a safe place."

Without saying a word, we move out of the open street and behind a house. "Don't bother," I say, shaking my head. "You're the first human I've seen in months. I wouldn't be surprised if we're the only humans left in all of Washington."

His eyebrows push together, dismay settling over his face. "That can't be right. I mean, we found each other didn't we?"

I glance around at the ghost town. "If there's any 'safe place,' any survivors left at all, it's not here." I pause, not wanting to admit I was hoping for the same thing. "Somewhere remote would probably be the best bet."

"We've been scouting out different places, just in case. My brother agrees with you, though." His eyes soften as he gives me a once over. "Are you alone?" He asks, and I can tell he's trying to keep the pity out of his voice.

"Yes." I try to keep my pitch even, uncaring, strong. But the truth is I sound like I'm about to cry and I probably am. I'm utterly alone, and it's been so, so long since I've come into contact with someone who wasn't trying to kill me. Embarrassingly enough, I don't quite succeed at keeping the moisture out of my eyes.

"Come with us," he says suddenly, his brown eyes compassionate. "You'd be safer with us and it's probably better to stick together anyway. There aren't enough of us left to be out on our own. We have food, water, and supplies."

I don't know what to say. I can tell that somehow this boy, Adam, has always been a kind person. Some of us got harder. Some of us got softer. I think about it for a moment, considering. He's a complete stranger, yes, but he's human and he hasn't shot me. That's the best I could ever ask for.

And I won't be alone.

I try to respond but my throat is all closed up. "I'll come," is all I manage. He smiles, a real smile. For the first time in months, I smile back.

"Come on," he says, "you need to meet my brother."

We briefly scavenge through some houses on our way to find his brother. We find a couple cans of food (dented, but who cares anymore?), some matches, and a few dusty water bottles. All in all, not bad for a town that has obviously been ransacked many times over.

"My brother and I split up to cover more ground," Adam explains, making me jump. I've been quiet for long enough that any noise feels wrong. "He probably headed back to our camp."

"How far?"

"Just a few miles."

When we reach the edge of the woods, I almost sigh in relief. Adam leads me north, the opposite from where I came, and it hits me once again that I am traveling with an absolute stranger. I don't know him. He seems nice but even other humans are dangerous. Even the best of us have been hardened enough to kill when necessary.

And, although I hate to think about it, I'm a woman. I swallow, my mouth painfully dry. I'll just be another mouth to feed, another body to protect-so what do he and his brother gain from this? I study him as he walks in front of me, and reality crashes in.

A sane person would not have agreed to this, and a sane person would not have offered. If I was smart I would've shot him or ran the second I saw him, not this. There are no 'good' survivors anymore. Only people who have done what they had to in order to survive. Which means either he's getting something out of this or he doesn't plan on keeping me alive. When he leads me to his brother or whoever is waiting here in the woods, I'll be outnumbered. They won't even need the gun to hurt me or force me to comply with something. And if they need to end me, they can do it quietly without attracting unwanted attention from something far more dangerous.

Chills creep down my spine and my grip on my rifle tightens. Am I insane because I agreed to follow this boy into the woods? Or am I just being paranoid?

I can't seem to decide.

We continue walking deeper into the woods, with him leading. He doesn't look back too often. I could slowly put more distance between us, I think, and then make a run for it. He'd hear me in this silence but I'd probably make it with that kind of a head start. I could find somewhere to hide, a bush or a tree or something and wait with my gun ready if he came after me. But how would I know if he was looking for me to kill me or because he was concerned that I had disappeared? This boy gives every appearance of being kind and harmless, but what if that's the most dangerous lie of all?

Or has fear so twisted me that I see even friends as threats? Who can I trust?

"We're here," Adam says to me, pushing back a branch to reveal two small green tents that weren't visible a moment before, cleverly hidden in the foliage. "Avery? Are you back yet? I've brought someone with me," He peeks his head inside the darker green tent.

I tense my grip on my gun. I've made a terrible mistake, I think, a chill running down my spine. I place my thumb on the safety-ready for anything.

A man steps out of the tent, stooping to fit, and turns to face me. Our eyes meet and my stomach does a somersault.

"Avery?" I gasp. The question is pointless. It's him. It's definitely him.

"Brooke," he says, frozen. Adam looks back and forth between us and a lightbulb seems to go off in his head. All thoughts of being murdered or worse leave my mind. Well, this is awkward, is all I can think. We stare at each other for a long, tense moment before Avery steps forward to hug me. My chagrin is replaced by thankfulness. I might not have broken up with him on the best of terms, but someone I know isn't dead. I'm not alone. I let him embrace me, feeling my strong exterior starting to crack.

"Everyone's dead," I whisper. Way to go, Brooke, what a pleasant way to greet your ex.

"I know," he says gently. I step back, sniffling. I won't cry. I blink back tears to make my vision clear again and study him. I realize with a little bit of a start that he looks almost exactly as I remember him. Same messy, strawberry brown hair, smug smirk, and kind hazel eyes. But he's older now, in more ways than one. There's a heaviness to him that wasn't there when I knew him. And his jaw is covered in stubble. I do the mental math. He looks even older than his twenty one years, I think. He was eighteen the last time I saw him.

I walk over to a fallen log by one of their tents and plop down on it, Avery following me. Adam joins us with a wary glance.

"This is the same Brooke you dated in high school?" He asks Avery.

"Yup, the one and only." He turns to me. "You met Adam a few times before we moved, I'm pretty sure."

I study Adam again. "You did look familiar. Although, I'll admit I just spent the last hour wondering if this was some elaborate trap to murder me in the woods." I grin, realizing how ridiculous the idea is. It's just Avery's kid brother, for crying out loud.

"And here I was thinking the same thing," Adam says, with just the perfect amount of chagrin. Avery barks out a laugh and Adam and I share a smile. I wonder how this pair is still alive if Avery always laughs this loud and Adam is always this kind.

Avery's face suddenly sobers, grabbing my attention. "What happened?" He asks. His eyes are serious. It's strange the way his eyes make me feel deja vu. He's giving me the same look he gave me when I was crying because that one guy on the football team had made some uncomfortable and very unwelcome advances. Avery was the only one who actually did something about it. A broken nose was his way of 'doing something about it,' but still.

"What do you want to know?" I say, reluctant.

"Everything."

I suck in a breath and he waits patiently. Adam tosses us both a water bottle and I take a long chug before I answer. I decide to start at the beginning

"Remember Liz?"

He nods. "Of course. She's dead?" He asks, the words callous but his eyes gentle.

I shake my head. "I don't know. Maybe, but probably not. She's one of them."

Adam chokes on his water and Avery starts laughing again.

"Really, Brooke?" The way Avery says it ticks me off. Does he think I'm joking? That I imagined my best friend trying to kill me? "Liz, of all people, one of the affected." Another term coined early on. The sarcasm in his voice ticks me off.

"Avery," I begin, bristling. "I'm not just guessing. This is not some theory to be debated." His eyebrows raise slightly. I stare him down. "I watched it happen."

This silences him a little bit. I can read the apology in his eyes, but there's doubt there-still. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Tell me."

I take a deep breath. "Right after Starfall, she started acting strange. She told me something incredible was happening to her and then made me promise not to tell anyone when she showed me. I didn't realize that the sizzling blue streaks of light coming from her fingertips were electricity. It was like a magic trick. It freaked me out, but she was entranced. The next day she could form it everywhere on her arms. Then her whole body. She got mad when I brought it up, especially if I pointed out that she was acting differently. And then the weird things started showing up on the news: the strange murders, unexplained deaths, and people doing impossible, deadly tricks. I don't know if you saw that TikTok of that one guy showing off his powers in front of a crowd of people? It went viral." Avery thinks for a moment then shakes his head. "Someone in the audience made a dumb joke about his gift, and he snapped. The video cut off in a flash. But the look in his eyes, right before it went black... it reminded me of Liz.

"That's when I saw the connection. She was already irritated with everything at that point. She stopped coming to class, ignored everyone, and wouldn't answer my calls. I decided to confront her. My dad showed me how to use his gun and I took it with me. He would've stopped me if he knew, but I snuck out. I hid it behind me when I saw her and prayed I wouldn't have to use it."

Adam and Avery are silent, giving me their full attention.

"When I told her that I was scared of what was happening and how the people on the news who were like her were going mental, she snapped. Blue light started building on her skin, like little lightning bolts."

I stare at the ground, reliving that moment. Adam is the one who speaks first-for once, Avery is shocked into silence.

"How are you...still alive?" He asks, like he can't believe my luck. Neither can I.

"I brought the gun out from behind my back to shoot her in the head, but I couldn't. She seemed prepared for that, anyway. So I didn't think, I just acted on instinct. I shot her in the foot and ran. I think she was in too much pain or shock to do anything." I take a deep breath. "That was day eight."

"I'm sorry," Avery says, his face heavy. All the light laughter from before is gone.

No one speaks for a long moment.

"But..." Avery says, abruptly shifting topics. "You've left out the last six months of the story."