When the trees began to thin, Pilot started sprinting. He forgot the pain in his foot. He forgot that he was supposed to be scouring the forest for food. All he knew was that he was free, and the world lay before him, and…

Smoke. Fires. People.

The ruined city of Ourense sprawled below him, only a handful of kilometres away. Tears welled in his eyes and he chewed the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from actually bawling. He knew he was craving human interaction, but to this degree? It hadn’t even been forty-eight hours.

I guess things change when you think you might be the only one left.

The descent down the grassy fields was treacherous, only because Pilot refused to look out for rabbit holes and fox dens in favour of reaching civilisation faster. He was puffing and limping, undoubtedly making a mess of his bandage, but to hell with it.

Eventually he had to take a break. He stood among the swathes of grass and marvelled at the natural beauty of his homeland. The asteroid might have destroyed the world, but it hadn’t destroyed the world.

A band of field mice rustled in the short grass before him. They didn’t seem to be concerned by his presence; despite the manic performance he’d just put on.

He reached out with that sense he couldn’t quite decipher, urging the nearest mouse to halt. Just like the squirrel, it stood stock still, perched on a blade of grass.

Okay. Your dinner is right there. Now make it come to you.

He’d tried the same trick with another vole only half an hour beforehand, but the additional strain of actually moving his prey had pulled apart his concentration. The vole had broken free, escaping with a strange story to tell its friends.

Now, he attempted a new strategy. Instead of pulling at the mouse, he guided it. He urged it forward, and it hopped off the blade of grass and ran in a straight line. He wished for it to turn right, so that it faced him, and a moment later he could see its beady eyes reflecting the evening light.

Forwards. Stop. Backwards. Stop. Jump?

The little critter hopped on the spot. In different circumstances, it might’ve been adorable, or perhaps freaky. Now he was deciding if he should eat dinner right then and there, or wander down to Ourense first.

Is this really what I’ve become? Looking forward to eating a mouse?

He made the creature run to him, crawling onto his palm. It was tiny — not even a mouthful. There wouldn’t be enough meat underneath the scraggy fur to even bother…

Ourense. I’m going to Ourense.

His concentration broke and the mouse seized its opportunity. Its little legs moved in a flurry, speeding up his arm. Pilot shook it off in disgust and the mouse flew, landing in a patch of grass and disappearing a moment later.

With a feeling of apprehension that he couldn’t quite place, Pilot walked through the last dips of the valley. He prayed for the smoke to be man-made. He didn’t care if the people were savages, or if they used their Powers to beat and torture him. He couldn’t be tortured more; fate was taking care of that.

His first steps inside the city limits were extraordinary. The Ponte Romana Bridge remained intact; an unbreakable soldier left unharmed by the asteroid’s savagery. He crossed, peeking over the edge into the River Minho.

It held less water than it used to. What was once a powerful river was now reduced to a mere stream.

I wonder if the hot springs are like this. I could do with a bath.

“Watch you don’t fall in, young man.”

Pilot jerked his head back from the edge. An old man stood on the bridge, only metres away. A black and white dog trailed behind him.

“I…I won’t. What…” Pilot couldn’t find the right words. He could only stare at the man in shock. His mouth hung open.

“I take it you’re new here,” said the old man. “Take a breath. Come with me. Don’t be scared of Annie — she doesn’t bite.”

Pilot watched the dog as it sniffed at a flower growing out of the cracks in the bridge. It lifted its leg, did its business, then trotted back to its master. He was leaving. His tattered beige shirt fluttered like it were waving goodbye.

“Wait! Wait, please. I thought I was alone. Please. Just wait while I…”

While I what? This is it. This is Ourense. This is People.

He felt like there should have been more than this. He’d survived his days and night in the forest. He’d used his Power to control the squirrel and he’d even eaten the pink parts of the meat that he knew weren’t cooked. So where was the big celebration of his arrival? Where were the people carting around plates of croquetas de jamón and telling him that everything was going to be all right? They were supposed to tell him that the asteroid had come and gone and now it was time rebuild the world — if only he would come right this way and get changed into some warm clothes first.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

This wasn’t Ourense. Not anymore. He couldn’t pretend any longer that the smoke billowing from the buildings ahead of him was happy fire. It wasn’t a bonfire with food and dancing and wine. It was aftermath.

“I was expecting you to follow.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I got a little lost.”

The old man nodded and set off once again. Pilot followed him this time, happy to get away from the bridge. The dog, Annie, bounced along beside him and nosed at his hand. He smiled at her and ruffled behind her ears.

“Friendly, isn’t she? I met her when I woke up about two weeks ago. Cheeky devil was…well…I think she was eating me. We’re good chums now, though.”

He tapered off as though he hadn’t meant to divulge that information just yet. Pilot supposed it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d say to someone exhibiting signs of serious panic.

“She’s lovely. You said you woke up two weeks ago? Not two days?”

“Correct. Seems that old people and children woke up first. Something about body weight. You’re a bigger fella than some — makes sense you were a tad slow out of bed.”

Pilot considered it for a moment. In his dream, he’d thought that the girl was just waking up. It had seemed like it, at least. Not many people would lie down in the dirt before a dust storm.

“I see. And the dog?”

“What about her?”

“Do you know when she woke up?”

The old man stopped and squinted down an alley. He looked down at Annie and made a face.

“I hadn’t thought about that. Before me, I suppose. And if you’re wondering, she’s got ‘erself a Gem, too. Though it emits a grey light. All the animals’ do.”

They continued through the city, eventually arriving at a square with the shambles of an ornate grey fountain in the middle. Pieces of carved stone littered the pavers around it. A dribble of water leaked from the mouth of a mermaid.

“That there’s the nursery,” said the old man, pointing to a beautiful stone building with decorated archways and flowery balconies. The west side was mostly demolished, but it retained its grandeur.

“Most of the babies woke up too early to be helped. Some younger kidlets, too. A few of the women folk got together and decided to look after all the ones that are left. Couple of men joined ‘em. I reckon they’re poofters.”

He sniffed and kept pointing, unfazed by what Pilot thought of his word choice.

I see. Not the first homophobic old man, and certainly not the last. Any port in a storm, I suppose.

They visited a few more landmarks. Pilot was shown two of the three food repositories, a few houses he could occupy that shouldn’t fall down around him, and a section of the River Minho that he could drink from.

Lastly, the old man showed him exactly why he shouldn’t drink from the section downstream. They walked down the bank, splotching through a section of dark brown mud and wispy river grass. The man’s dog, Annie, drifted along in the slow current beside them.

“Haven’t found ourselves a plumber just yet, so this is where you can do your business.” They stood in front of a series of wooden boards about as tall as Pilot’s shoulder. Behind the boards, there were ten or twelve makeshift toilet seats, all in a row.

“Fantastic. Happen to know when peak hour starts?”

The old man cackled and tapped his temple in approval.

“Haha! I like to go before sunup. You can get lucky in other parts of the day, like now, but it’s unusual.”

Pilot nodded. The fact that there were twelve toilet seats gave him some comfort. It implied that there were enough people here to require that many. Assuming maybe ten people per seat, the world population might just have made it to triple digits.

He thought he’d seen everything he needed to see when a final question crossed his mind.

“Is there anywhere I can get a drink?”

**************

Binky McGee awoke on the rocky cliffs of the Parque Natural Sierra de Grazalema. All he could remember from Before was that he was really, seriously blazed. He’d picked a nice spot for himself, perfectly situated to gaze out over the mirror-like surface of the Cueva del Gato plunge pool, then he’d settled down and toked up.

At some point, when the asteroid was so close that its reflection melded into the water and a sound like God’s stomach-ache rumbled across the world, he’d decided to go for a walk. Not to anywhere in particular, just somewhere else. He remembered absolutely punting his foot into a rock, just to see if he could feel it.

He didn’t.

Not long after, the asteroid made contact and an avalanche of dislodged boulders rendered him mincemeat.

But now he was here. And he wasn’t high. And that was bad.

Oh so bad.

Whatever that voice had done to him, whatever the blue ‘Gem’ thing in his chest was up to, it had removed all traces of drugs and alcohol from his body. His haze was gone, his very identity.

Binky McGee wanted his identity back.

But where to start? His bike had melted down to nothing except for a few blobs of metal, and his dealer lived in…

Gibraltar.

That was a long way away. Making it here would’ve been a full day’s ride if those two men hadn’t picked him up and thrown him in the open-back of their truck.

Talking to them was strange. He felt like an experiment, especially when they suddenly hit the brakes and all the dust from behind them caught up, smothering him and irritating his dry eyes and…

At least they gave him a ride. And they didn’t question the glass bong sprouting from the top zip of his backpack.

Madre Loca. She would be gone. He’d cared for that bong almost as much as he cared for what he smoked out of it.

He shook his head. The clarity he felt was unusual. Normal Binky wouldn’t come to conclusions so fast. Normal Binky was too busy deciding what he’d pack into Madre Loca next.

But there was nothing to pack, and nothing to pack it into.

Not until I get to Gibraltar.

He set off, scraping his way back onto a somewhat recognizable trail. The asteroid’s impact had not been kind to this section of the Parque, leaving him dodging around boulders and fighting over entirely new patches of land.

Being naked was freeing, if only so that he had better access to scratching himself. His nails were long for the first time in his life, and they were the perfect instrument to take care of the incessant itch around his scar.

“<>”

He frowned at the voice and slapped a hand to his forehead. He jumped up and down with his head cocked to one side, like a swimmer trying to get water out of their ear.

“I’ll scratch whatever I like, thank you! Watch this!”

With one nail, he placed a nice gouge along the scar, opening up the reddened seal.

“<>”

He’d tried that, but it hadn’t worked. The voice had given him something, but it failed. Broken, he thought. It was supposed to be a new capability that made him feel like a superhero.

Or supervillain.

“Right, lady. Sure. What was it again? It had a cool name — something with my breath?”

Binky surveyed the Parque as the voice chirped in his ear. When it said nice things, he was happy to have it around.

“<>”