One

Four hundred years ago, the world became tainted. And no, not in the usual sense. We were way beyond lying, thievery, and plain murder. I mean the war-like kind of tainting. Where holes littered the ground, and bodies were stacked at every corner in a desperate attempt to stop the spread of disease. The curbs of the streets in Stephens City, Virginia, were stained a rusty-red hue from all the blood draining into the sewers. Smoke rose to great heights, billowing towards the heavens above as if seeking pity from the Creator.

I adjusted the gas mask on my face with a gloved hand, my breathing shallow as I picked my way along Macedonia Church Road. Where I stood, I could see the remnants of a green home. Most of the roof was gone now, but the porch remained intact. Across from it was a mound of bricks. I knew they were former houses, blown to smithereens by bombers during the Fourth World War.

The town had turned into a city over the span of a few years, most of the new residents fleeing from Leesburg or DC. It became one of the most populated areas in Virginia, and being only a couple hours from major sites, was a hot spot for trouble. It wasn't like that anymore.

Tucking my hands in my pockets, I turned right, walking towards Tasker. I couldn't tell you how long I had been traveling on these roads. Not just in Stephens City, but all along the east coast. I would pick up things during my wanderings. Money meant nothing, so it was used as fire-kindling. Books were relics, but I had a couple in my bag. Passers-by were the rarest of all, though. I'd only seen a dozen or so people since I started walking two years ago.

My trench coat dragged through decay as I meandered, kicking mud and gross substances I don't care to name from the bottoms of my shoes. I could see the heat waves rising from the tar road, making the neighborhood beyond hazy. The toxic air felt like black ichor against my bare ankles, singeing the stubble on my legs. Stepping onto Tasker Road, I looked back and forth before deciding to take a left, jogging past the skeletons of dozens of cars. There, I found an abandoned Walmart. So many boxes littered the parking lot, a sign that a group of scavengers had long since raided the place.

Ducking my head, I sprinted for the doors which had been pulled from their rails and were now propped up against the crumbling brick wall. A black hood pulled over my auburn hair, I looked around the wrecked building. The place was so big I wouldn't be surprised if I found someone inside. Padding through the center aisle, I glanced around. Like most other places, the store was trashed. Completely. A large crater sat towards the far left, what I assumed to be the aftermath of a grenade. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that someone had moved a bunch of bodies into the hole before laying cardboard over them. The reed diffusers someone had thrown on top didn't do much to mask the horrid smell coming from the heap. Not even the mask covering my face was able to.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw fire. One single, lone flame burning brightly within the darkness. It flickered, but remained. Taking a shard of wood from a cattywampus shelf, I approached the burning wire hanging from the ceiling. The least I could do was burn the bodies to ash. If they couldn't have a proper burial, I could at least dispose of the bodies the best way I knew how.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a voice from behind me. Whirling around, I held the wood piece up like a weapon, staring at the man. He leaned against one of the concrete supports, watching me steadily. "Those bodies are covered in gasoline. Someone rigged the building to explode; the gas wraps throughout the whole building. If you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you don't even touch the fire."

I glared at him, but of course, he wouldn't know that. The gas mask completely covered my face, hiding my expression. Perhaps he could see my eyes, but not from far away. Stepping closer, he took the wood from me, tucking it into the pocket of his camo cargo pants. I didn't move my eyes from his face, assessing him. He was tall and lean. Not buff, but muscular enough. A mop of light brown hair sat atop his head, kind brown eyes peering closely at my mask. He couldn't be much older than me. Twenty-four or twenty-five if I had to guess.

"You do realize you don't actually need the mask, right?" he queried. "I checked the air toxicity in the building, and it seems fine for the most part."

I didn't move a muscle.

"Is there even a person under there?" he asked, frowning. "You're not some sort of freaky automaton, are you? Creator knows, those things ended the world fast."

"No, I'm not," I grunted, stepping around him.

"So she does have a voice!"

"I'm sorry for entering your space," I said, hugging my coat tighter around me.

"You could stay," he offered. "It gets lonely here, and the air's fresher than many surrounding areas."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Got things to do, places to be. Why are you even here in the first place?" I glanced at him over my shoulder as I made my way toward the exit.

"Uhm. . . Well, that's a long story and-"

"I've got no time for those," I said, jogging outside. He continued to follow.

"Hey, I didn't mean to get you running out of the store." He sounded upset. Pausing in the middle of the street, I turned to face him. "Look, I need to get to Canada. I've been traveling up from Florida for the past seven months."

"Why Canada, of all places?"

"My uncle is in Dryden, Ontario, Canada. I'm trying to get to him."

"How do you even know where he is? Communication is nearly impossible."

He held up a strange, rectangular contraption. It was thin, about half the width of my finger, but quite long. It was small enough to hold it with one hand, but still pretty large. He said, "This thing. It's a phone. They're pretty much beat, at this point. It's a 28 Pro, if I can recall the model. Weren't made to last, but my great-grandfather owned a few."

"Why are you sticking around here, then? You seem to have built yourself a. . . place." I motioned to the Walmart, eyes drawn towards the side where he'd created a blanket fort and whatnot. How I had not seen it before, I had no idea, but it was obvious he'd been there for a while.

"I've been working on some things," he said slowly, as if thinking about how much to tell me. "A fast mode of transport, if you will. Electricity isn't something we really have here anymore, so repairing a car would be pointless. No, I'm working on something much greater than that."

I grunted, not totally believing him. "What would you need me for? I'm headed south." I wasn't. I, myself, was headed north, but I didn't know that I wanted a stranger to tag along.

"It's just better to move in a group, however small it may be. I haven't been on the move for that long, and I have yet to run into anything dangerous, but this country has been decimated, and those who are still left are mostly ravenous. Turned foul by anger, fear, and loss. You never know what they will do when they see you."

"What about me makes me trustworthy?" I asked. I was genuinely curious, but I didn't want him to think I was being friendly. “I could have, and still could, attack you.”

"You could, but you haven’t. And the way you tried to burn those people. I know what you were doing. Putting their souls to rest."

"Maybe I was cooking them."

"You most certainly weren't."

"I don't even know your name," I argued, adjusting my mask once more.

"Liam."

I stared blankly at him. He was a little foreign. Literally, as he came from Florida, but figuratively as well. It wasn't often you came across someone, much less someone asking for your help. Most people moved about life bleakly, despairing over what befell the world.

"Norelle," I said quietly after a moment. I couldn't remember the last time I'd said my name. It felt strange on my lips. As if it weren't mine.

He looked mildly surprised. "That's a pretty name," he said seconds later. I shrugged in response. "So, Norelle. Will you help me?"

I mulled over it, tilting my head to the right as I looked him up and down. I'd been working alone for over five years. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized traveling through DC with someone trustworthy would be imperative if I was to get out without too much trouble. DC was a hot spot for lost people. So was New York. And Los Angeles, if you were to the west. He needed me for the exact reason I needed him, and he recognized that.

"Yes, Liam. I'll help you."