Far in the distance, I see the first tangible person I could interact with. As anyone could guess, I waved. The creaks on every step of the bridge didn't hamper running over. This was a person, just a little way over. Of course, a little bit of fog obscured what exactly they looked like, but I nonetheless knew it was my next step.

Approaching them, they didn't so much as turn to me. They were frozen—maybe not entirely frozen, but they sort of twitched and swayed. I basically got a few feet from them.

"Hello?" was the most generic and open way I could have tried to get their attention.

Unrequited. Unreturned. Ignored, even. Maybe I wasn't being polite enough. So I tried- and that didn't work either. Maybe I should say something harsher. Circling them, nothing would work. I tried to look right at them, right in their face. They had a few burnt splotches on their skin. A few wrinkles here and there from what skin was exposed. Their breath stunk.

Not frozen, and certainly moving. In fact, when I tried to call out to them right in front of their face, they turned. They turned at a random angle: anything just to avoid me. I tried facing them again. They turned again. With my hands behind my back, looking up at them was the only effort I was willing to make. After exhausting that effort a dozen times or more, I left. I crossed from the middle of the bridge, now to its completion.

Packed dirt roads became stone and concrete. Concrete expanded with a slice of reddish asphalt in the middle. Buildings finally populated my vision. Brick storage houses, bars, banks, leasing houses, and other nondescript buildings welcomed me. Nothing quite wanted to open enough to welcome me personally, but I pressed on.

The first sign of humanity appeared at a park. It had a few slides, benches, a pavilion, wood chips and fake grass for the ground, among other means to justify its existence. It was a few guys, a few girls, deep in the middle of discussion. Some are idly playing on the playground set. Some sat. A few stood. One stood on a bench, who appeared to direct most of the conversation as the rest of them oriented themselves toward her.

None of them noticed me at first. I was inconspicuous, anyway. As if by a premonition, she turned a one-eighty to greet me. She outstretched one of her arms-

"I haven't seen you before. I'm Phoebe." She followed up by giving me a confident smile.

"I think I'm called Ishmael," I responded.

I exchanged my story first. She went next, and others jumped in when she faltered.

"We've been looking for people like you. Welcome to the City, by the way. Out of nowhere, one day, I noticed people left and right losing their minds. Maybe I lost my mind, really. Anyway, I looked first for my friends - that was mostly a downer - then I looked for my extended family - something that's generally a nightmare. Honestly, they were really creepy. The people who lost their minds, I mean. They were all like- not talking, and grunting, but still doing normal person things." She had her hands firmly gripping her waist while speaking.

"I found Phoebe first while she was crying her head off. It was really funny. It's like her world was ending. It sort of was, but it's not like something I would cry about." One of the boys moved forward to say.

I raised my hand. Phoebe pointed to me.

"Yes?" She included.

"I've seen them too!" I reported.

She waited a moment to let me continue. "Okay. Cool, what did they look like?"

"I'm not sure. I only passed by one of them, who looked kind of hurt. The rest of them just didn't even try to acknowledge me." I concluded.

"Okay… who's the rest of them? Ten, twenty, a crowd? What does that mean?" She tried.

"People, I think, who lived in houses near those farms."

One of the others spoke up. "Yeah, anyway. A few of us were in pairs at some point. When I noticed Momma hadn't been back in a while, and I was real hungry, I looked out. I saw a few guys picking through a trash can. I thought - yuck, aren't trash cans gross? Can't you get sick from 'em? So I knew something wasn't right, packed my stuff, and looked for my friends. Found her and found my friend." He said.

"So, you get it, I hope. They're weird, like they don't have a single care in their entire little miserable life. I think they're still people, well, duh. Actually, of course they're still people, but they sure don't act like it. I've been trying to talk to them, but I've gotten shut out so many times. It's so rude. Surely someone can talk sense into them. That's why we're together. If a girl like me can't get these people to talk, maybe a whole bunch of us can. Plus, a lot of us have been missing our parents." Phoebe explained.

"Phoebe is like a mom to me!" Interrupted one of the girls.

"I think she's actually kind of weird!" One of the boys added.

"Well, it's been a while at this point. We're pretty much convinced our parents are gone. We've even had enough time to grieve about it, well, most of us, anyway. We've found people our parents' age, but they were in their own groups. Too many people gave them too much of a hassle, so we tend to split ways." Phoebe explained.

"Well, I was in a group with all the old people, but they were so slow that I said screw it! I joined Phoebe's group instead. She knows how to make plans! She knows how to take the lead!" One of the boys exclaimed.

"For your information, we're personally still accepting newbies to our group. We even have a secret hideout. It has pretty much everything stashed from our parents' places. So, welcome aboard." Phoebe opened her arms to let me join the group.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

When we mingled more closely, I found they were just like me. Phoebe was even the same height as me. They explained their current plan to me. Honestly, it seemed less like a plan and more like they were all just hungry. Hungry, just like me. Naturally, we became friends. Only a few of them really had money, so we were trying to think of how to split everything up. I had nothing, only two big pockets without even a single speck of dust in them. Oh, and a pocket on one of my pecs. Maybe people gave out food for free in this city. What was normal here went over my head.

They really knew their way around. We traveled door to door, through back alleys, and through some main streets. It's like they never had to take a detour. We even jumped over a fence. Some establishments looked entirely abandoned. Some businesses looked totally wrecked- debris on the floor, scrapes on the walls, and blood in spots.

Some businesses were still inhabited, but the residents were despondent. There was no rhyme or reason for how some of them acted: sitting on the ground, walking around in a circle sobbing, seemingly laughing, droning, babbling, or anything.

Either way, I was more surprised they broke in and entered wherever they felt.

What I did see never had a unified theme. Some buildings had colorful decor. Some buildings decorated themselves in sterile but calm furniture. Some buildings just looked old and dusty, with wooden or grossly cushioned furnishings. I saw repeating patterns, but it's not like I saw the same thing twice in a row.

Some of them marveled at the trinkets they found. Anything unoccupied and somewhat abandoned, they considered taking. Not everything they took was essential, either. Even then, what they did consider essential, they exuded a great deal of excitement from doing so. They offered space for my stuff in a few of their backpacks, but nothing stood out to me that I'd care to take. Was I not creative enough? I felt like something they felt couldn’t connect in my mind. We exited our trek through the stores and took to the street.

Admittedly, they preferred taking the main roads more than anything. They could cross more land, but only where the roads dictated. Small problem: larger crowds. Crowds of loiterers. As they said, some sat around trash cans, others idly sat against walls. Some looked like they were interacting with each other, but as we shuffled somewhat near them, I couldn't make out anything they said, nor was any of it loud enough to be overheard.

Despite taking an uncomfortable route, our first pitstop was in the form of a corner store. It was no supermarket, but it had plenty of food for everyone. When we went inside, I smelled food. Actual cooking food. Fresh bread, meats, eggs, and cheese. There were two employees running it. They didn't exactly look well, but we didn't pay them any mind. After being assured they could cover what I got, I decided to grab a pastry. Simple, neat, and easy to eat while moving. Others really stuffed their bags. One of them even asked the employees to make something for them, to which they complied.

Phoebe counted our cash, and dropped it on the counter. The cashier slowly dragged it to their register. No response. Was that enough? It wasn't my problem, I guess. The employees didn't greet us. They didn't watch us leave. They barely even moved. All they could do was their job.

"Now, we'll give you the privilege of coming to our hideout. Do not, and I really mean this, tell anyone else about it. Word gets around. And our base can only fit so many people. I'd love to feed more mouths, although we'd have to find more food to do so, but we just don't have enough space. We have enough space for, like, let me think, I believe, three more or so." Phoebe explained.

One of the boys grabbed my hand and exclaimed we could room together. He was one of the few who could assemble a bunk and was proud to have done so. I didn't care where I slept, but I tried to match what he felt for his comfort. He clearly looks excited. Is it the achievement, despite living in a seemingly temporary location? Is it the wisdom, ignoring whether or not I value wisdom at a level he does? Even if it's the possession he cares about, it's not like some grand, amazing treasure. It is a bed.

I unwrapped and ate my pastry as we walked.

Some appear to be lagging behind. Some have messy hands and don't know what to do. Some are sort of nibbling away at their food, clearly desperate for a fork or spoon. They all caught up with the rest of the group eventually. Some even have the luxury of asking for us to slow down, as they seem to be more acquainted with the group than others. Would they do the same for me? Would I be included, or would I be neglected, distanced, and thrown away at first sight?

Some appear to be attracting the attention of freaks. It's obvious, with what burn marks, bruises, and unkempt outfits they have. Our group is being followed. Dozens of people trudging toward us, refusing to speak, refusing to walk normally. It almost looks painful. Some look like they haven't eaten in months. Others look like they haven't eaten in minutes. I can't help but observe, unlike the majority of the group. What kind of custom is it to look so beat up in such a large group? Whatever it was, Phoebe began directing us towards a safe exit. A tunnel.

Thankfully, it wasn't a sewer grate. It was a staircase leading to a door underneath a bridge. She had the key. The door had some sort of "Authorized Personnel Only" sign, but it was hard to make out, aside from an illustrated red bolt of lightning. Inside, instead of sewers, was more human-friendly land, I think. The floors were white linoleum tiles with small black flecks. The ceiling had arches nearly twice our height. Elevation descended slowly, as staircases with small flights and wide frames allowed us to be careful. Nondescript doors with windows by either side lined the vast hallway. My focus honed in on a water fountain, where all tiles appeared to lead and cross through it.

"Don't get too close to it. It might give you a disease- a sewer sickness!" One of the girls said while nudging me.

I stepped away. I was still taking in the scenery when their touch yanked me out of it. I refused to look at them afterward, much less respond.

Floating over to one of the other boys next to Phoebe, I asked what they knew about this tunnel system.

"Well, if there's anything I know, I know it's boringly long! It just goes on and on, and I feel like you can wrap around the whole City this way. None of us know any other doors to enter this place. No entrances, no holes to fall into. Only out of." The boy said while stretching.

"That's not exactly true. We had one- well, one of us who hung around me showed a few doors. They're gone now. They also only left me with the one key, though. It's so inconvenient to take this path, considering how far our base is from here. I do know at least another way to get inside if I had another key. It would be nice- oh, and we don't know who runs this facility. I know you said you're from that forest, but do you remember- actually, maybe not." Phoebe rambled.

I think I had an idea of what she was asking. It took a few tries to attempt to answer her, but I cobbled together: "I can't think of anything before the forest. Even in it, nothing stood out to me that might be connected to this place."

Some of the group had to weave around painted concrete pillars. On the other hand, the group sort of stayed scattered. They didn't appear to be in a hurry. A few of the girls left the main group to investigate somewhere else. Others made small circles while walking.

"Maybe you're one of them. I mean, like don't take this the wrong way, but you've felt pretty different. Although, the others we've seen don't seem to talk- well maybe they can talk, we haven't really tried. Like, it's not a bad thing, right? They seem weird, and they're not really doing much with themselves. I guess a lot of our parents, partners, and the like have gone missing. I don't know- maybe you can talk to them." She continued.

"But I haven't-" I interrupted while making hand gestures.

She made a disappointed hum. "I meant, like, the weirdos who aren't talking, not our parents. We can't find our parents. Man, it would be awesome if you could be our little diplomat." She wouldn't stop.

"I'm nothing like them. I'm treated entirely differently from how I am around them. I don't even look like them; they look beat up and hurt." I sputtered out.

"Awkward," was the comment Phoebe aimed at me, bringing the thread of consciousness to a knot.