Still alive:

The next morning Dust shimmered back into solid form. He calmly sat on a large, flat rock and waited for the sun to come up. When the first glimpse of it broke over the mountains in the distance, he raised his face to the brilliant streams of sunlight—and savored the slight warmth.

He grinned when he discovered that his body wasn’t going to turn to ash. The grin changed to a grimace when his stomach grumbled. Unfortunately, it appeared that his almost-dinner from the night before must have talked to all of the critters in the area because he couldn’t sense any living thing nearby except for plants. At the moment, he was hungry enough to try eating them if they would ease the gnawing ache.

He slid off the rock, stood up, and glanced in the sun’s direction once more before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking down the small hill near the highway where he had taken refuge. With the sun on his right, he continued heading north. He would veer to the west when he reached one of the highways heading in that direction. Maybe he could find a car or truck—and a map—at the next town he came to.

“And food,” he murmured out loud. “Lots and lots of food.”

He kicked at a stone in the road and tried to focus on something other than his empty stomach.

By midday, his hunger had grown into a barely controlled desperation. He was terrified of trying to use any more of his energy than was absolutely necessary. The sun had warmed the road enough that even the chill in the wind felt more like a refreshing breeze and gave him some relief. Up ahead, he saw a long bridge.

“Where there is a bridge, there is water. Water means fish!” he muttered in a loud voice as hope swelled inside him.

Practically running, he reached the bridge and looked over the side. A wide river flowed underneath thirty feet below. He scanned the water, looking for any signs of life. Near a group of large boulders, he saw the evidence of a fish bed.

“Yes!” he murmured.

He slid his hands down along the rough concrete. He needed a fishing pole and bait. Climbing over the railing, he half-crawled, half-slid down the embankment.

Along the way, he picked up a large heavy stick. He also found some wire and twine that must have come loose or been thrown out and washed down. His hands trembled with hunger as he crafted a crude fishing pole out of the scavenged debris.

Climbing along the bank, Dust made his way to the fish beds that he had seen from above. He paused, looking for something to use as bait. He finally found a small bucket he could use to catch minnows.

It took him a half dozen tries before he was able to catch some minnows that were swimming along the bank. With shaking hands, he dipped his fingers into the water of the bucket, pulled one of the small fish out, and hooked it. It was a sad excuse for a meal, but he hoped the fish were as hungry as he was. If they were, this little minnow would look like a tasty banquet.

“Don’t think about food. It will only make you hungrier,” he hissed in admonishment to himself under his breath.

Of course, telling himself not to think about food only made him want it more. With a muttered curse that he had learned from his dad, he tossed his makeshift line into the water. His mind was just starting to drift when he felt a slight tug. Tensing, he waited until he felt the tug again, this time it was harder. Pulling sharply on his pole, he hooked the fish.

Excitement built inside him when he pulled in a trout that had to be close to four pounds. Half afraid he might lose his much needed meal, he stepped into the water and grabbed the squirming fish by the gill. He turned and struggled back up onto the riverbank and unhooked the fish. Looking around, he noticed a cracked five gallon bucket under a low bush. He righted the bucket and placed the fish inside it.

An hour later, he had caught five large trout. His attention turned to the darkening sky when he heard the familiar rumble of thunder. His shoes were full of water, and his pants were soaked up to his thighs. He needed to find shelter. Storms had been extremely unpredictable since the comet hit the earth. They could go from minor to deadly in a matter of minutes. At the moment, he didn’t have the strength to protect himself from it.

Holding the heavy bucket of fish in one hand and his makeshift fishing pole in the other, he struggled up the embankment until he reached the concrete abutment under the bridge. Once there, he set down the bucket and began collecting wood to make a fire. He would need one tonight!

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Twenty minutes later, he dropped the last pile of wood on the ground. Even though he was hungry, he needed to get the fire going first. He winced when he felt the electricity surging in the air. Seconds later, the snap of a lightning bolt shook the ground.

He was glad that he had chosen to get as close to the underside of the bridge as he could when the storm drew closer. The heavy concrete supports would help protect him from the rain and wind. He had also found a couple of blue tarps. They weren’t in the best shape, but they were good enough to create a tent of sorts.

An hour later, he was sitting in his warm shelter with his pants and socks hanging up to dry. He had placed his wet shoes on sticks near the fire. Reaching out, he grabbed one of the sticks he was using as a skewer and picked at the moist, white flesh of the cooked trout.

“Hot, hot, hot,” he muttered, pulling off a chunk of the sizzling, tender flesh and popping it into his mouth.

A long, low hum of delight escaped him. He quickly pulled off another fish and devoured it. In minutes, he had consumed four fish to the bone. Once the edge of his hunger was appeased, he slowed down enough to savor his delicious meal.

The sound of rain mixed with hail drew Dust’s attention. Once again, his thoughts moved to Sammy and the others. He wondered if they were still at the old gym or if they had moved on. The thought of them out in this strange new world worried him. What if Daciana returned? He shouldn’t have left them.

Bowing his head, he stared down at the half-eaten fish, suddenly not hungry anymore. His swirling thoughts matched the storm raging around him. He’d had to leave. The changes inside his body were frightening. There was no way he would endanger anyone else until he knew what was happening with his powers.

A soft scurrying sound drew his attention. He tilted his head and looked toward the bottom of the tarp. A small wriggling nose appeared in a gap where he had placed chunks of concrete to hold down the sides. A wry grin curved his lips when he saw another nose wriggling near the first. It would appear a family of field mice had decided to seek shelter under the bridge as well and smelled his dinner.

His smile faded as a wave of loneliness washed through him. Without realizing it, he sent a thought to the mouse to come to him. He blinked when five tiny brown field mice appeared one at a time in front of him.

“Are you cold and hungry, too?” he asked.

One of the little mice sat up on its hind legs and sniffed the air. Dust pulled a small piece of fish off the skewer and held it out. The mouse leaned forward, placed one tiny forepaw on the ground, and stretched its body toward him. He released the piece of fish when the mouse grabbed it and sat back.

“I had some pet mice before,” he murmured to them. “They lived in the barn. My mom wasn’t too happy when she found out I was feeding them.”

He tossed some more fish to the mice when the others crept closer. It was nice having something to talk to, even if they couldn’t exactly talk back. The knowledge that he wasn’t completely alone brought him a small amount of comfort.

“I don’t know how Sammy would feel about you. Todd would probably think you were pretty cool. Of course, he’s a seven-year-old boy, and they think anything is pretty cool. I don’t normally talk so much. I think it is because I’m missing….”

He shook his head. Lifting a piece of fish to his mouth, he took a bite and slowly chewed it. He missed the others. Their plan had been to head to Portland, Oregon where his aunt and uncle lived. He didn’t know if they were still alive or not. From the little that he’d seen so far, there weren’t a lot of people who had made it through the initial fallout of the comet. Still, it was possible that they had survived. The only way to find out was to go there.

“I’m finished. You guys can have the rest,” he said to the mice that were quickly scurrying for the gap in the tarp.

He rose to his feet and tossed the bones of his dinner into a bucket before he picked it up. Pushing the tarp aside, he shivered when he felt the cold, sharp wind rush in through the opening. The sky glowed with an eerie green light. From experience, he knew that meant the storm was going to be a bad one. Once again, he worried about whether Sammy and the others would be safe.

He walked several yards away from his shelter and dumped the remains of his dinner. Walking over to the edge of the bridge, he peered into another bucket he had cleaned and set down to catch rain water. It was nearly full. He left that bucket to collect more water while he rinsed the dirty bucket and filled it with water that was pouring down from the bridge. He winced when several large hail stones struck his arm.

Deciding it was safer to let the rain fill up the bucket, he snatched up the full one. He would need water on his journey, so he filled several plastic bottles he had found earlier. Drinking deeply from the bucket, he replaced it to catch more rainwater.

By the time he was finished, he was shivering with cold. He hurried back to the small enclosure he had constructed and slipped under the tarp. He reached out and touched his jeans hanging near the fire. They were still damp. With a soft groan, he added more wood to the fire and held his hands out over the flames to warm them.

Another flash of lightning, followed by the roll of ground-shaking thunder made him glad that he at least had his small shelter. He sank down and laid back against the concrete, deciding his best bet was to get some rest and save his energy. Tomorrow, he would catch more fish for breakfast before heading out. He needed to get as far away as he could before it began to snow.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” he murmured, staring up at the blue ceiling of his shelter. “Stay safe.”

Rolling onto his side, he focused on fading. At least in this form he couldn’t feel the cold—or the hard ground. The world around him came into sharper focus as he stared at the flames. It was strange how dissolving into invisibility made everything appear so much clearer, even down to the dust and mist that floated in the air.

The warmth from the fire, the sound of the storm, and his full stomach soon lulled him into a fitful sleep. Dreams filled his mind, flashing from one scene to another. In each of them, he saw Sammy’s smiling face. If he had been in his solid corporeal form, his tears would have dampened the sleeve of his jacket.