The sun cracked its way through the evening’s shell as I spent the next nineteen hours traveling back towards the highway, if I couldn’t find a vehicle I’d walk. The rain had already been on my skin for long enough, it still hadn’t stopped and there was nothing I could do about it. Perhaps it was the plague itself, perhaps it was an engineered cure, successful or not – there was no reason to worry, if I was to die, I would die. When night came back to steal the sun, I found myself an abandoned house, able to see what turned out to be a metallic plate in my shoulder, no explanation for it anywhere on my arms; I’d given up on my questions. There’d been no more interactions since the first, I hadn’t been bothered in my travelling, my arms warned me of them anyway and they would warn me again tomorrow. Nesting in someone else’s bed, I looked up at the pattern-less ceiling, another tomb for me to discover upon waking. At least I would wake without a jacket, able to see the skin on my arm but how would I survive without this man, without this Jeff; without this man I’d spent the day learning about?
As the clouds continued to spit their glass knives, I felt myself being pulled away, being pulled back into the terror of sleep.
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