Chapter 3

The creature was inches away when Jalen recovered. He twisted out of its path, catching the coppery scent of blood as it passed him. It crashed into the marble column of the fountain, cracking it, and thudded into the water. It shook, gathering itself, all eight holes locked on Jalen. The holes were hollow but Jalen could see the hate practically glowing in them, glowing inside the monster, -like a smoldering ember in a far away fire place.

Jalen backed away, the rebar raised.

It lunged again.

Jalen stepped forward and swung down with all of his strength, the thin metal rod crashing into the creature's skull. It lost almost all of its momentum and fell to the ground, still alive. One of its holes was dribbling blood. It flared and Jalen heard sniffing-they were nostrils. Its face was a giant nose. It hissed at Jalen, trying to stand to attack again. Jalen was faster. The rebar came crashing down a second time and there was an audible crack. The monster screeched in pain, rolling away, one of its legs bent awkwardly.

It tried to stand but, young and weak, couldn't balance itself on three legs. Jalen stared down at it, studying it, watching it struggle.

And there it was. Anger.

Red hot and irresistible, it erupted inside of him and before he could stop himself, he stomped on it.

Quills shattered. He heard and felt ribs break under his sneakers. It twisted around to bite at Jalen's foot but was too slow-his heel crushed its neck, and it stopped moving.

Jalen stood there, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his chest. Reasoning slowly returned to him. He didn't even realize it left.

His shoe and the ankle of his pants were bloodied. It had gotten on his face.

Why had he done that?

He shook his head. It was just stress. And trauma. And the city itself...he needed to go back to sleep.

When his pulse steadied, he squatted down once more. The creature was small- maybe a foot long from tail to head and weighed less than his bottle. He turned it over with his foot, hoping he could salvage a claw or a spine and fashion a weapon. A single piece of rebar, at this rate, wouldn't be enough.

He couldn't. Everything was either too small or broken or both. "Oh, well," he thought to himself. "That's what I get, I guess." He could've tried to stab it...or something.

He began to walk away but stumbled, tripping over... something. It was like his foot had fallen asleep. He stopped to check, rolling down his sock and pulling up his pant leg.

There, embedded into the skin of his ankle, was a small quill. He pulled it out and the feeling returned to his foot instantly.

He examined the quill, turning it over between his fingers. He could use these for some sort of weapon, somehow, if tried...

He glanced at the broken body, thought for a moment, then decided to pick up the longest quills he could find-which were, sadly, no longer than a couple inches. He put them in the pocket of his uniform's coat, lined them up so they hopefully wouldn't stab him by accident so he didn't paralyze himself, and continued.

~~~

Next was a simple store. Or what he assumed to be one.

He stopped outside of a low, square building. Around him were similar shaped ones-he guessed he was in a shopping district. They were stores, and Jalen guessed that each "store", at some point, sold something different, creating a sort of diverse yet connected marketplace.

Now, however, the market sat in desolate ruins. The wind whistled through remaining columns of concrete and metal. Broken glass glittered on the floor. The food store itself had also been completely destroyed, its face caved away and surrounding it in chunks of rubble, exposing the inside.

Jalen looked in for a moment, making sure nothing had changed since he last came...or making sure nothing was inside, waiting to jump out and eat his face.

The wind whistled through the building's remains. Somewhere far off, a monster growled. There was nothing inside. He went in.

It was the size of a convenience store, but Jalen didn't think that's what it was. He picked his way through the rubble, taking care not to trip or even worse, make any noise, and stepped into the shade of the building. Could it still be called shade if there was no sun? He glanced up. The sky was at its brightest-he was probably approaching noon, or just after. He'd make it back before sunset if he didn't waste any time.

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As he entered, the smell of rotted food, sweet and nauseating, made his stomach churn. The only light in the place came from windows and outside- the dim red glow of the sky slanted in through slits in the wall and onto the floors, where most of the shelves were scattered. The back parts of the store remained shrouded in darkness, which was all the better for him. He had no light source and no intentions of going back there. He knelt down to examine what used to be on a shelf.

Brightly colored, small and sealed bags. One was yellow, and in bold red letters was...something. Any text in this place he'd seen so far was in some language that he couldn't understand, recognize, or even begin to guess what it was...which was all the more concerning to him. He spoke three languages.

It resembled Arabic, maybe? But had some english-looking characters as well. Not only that, it was written up and down, in columns-like Chinese, or something. It really did seem like an amalgamation of all the most common languages on Earth, with all of their grammar and lexicon rules spliced together. Nevermind a translation-this was a code. And it was one he had no hope of deciphering, for now.

Well, what was written on it didn't matter. What *did* matter was the picture. Underneath the strange language was a symbol- an ear of corn. It was a bag of corn chips...or something similar. He opened them-the smell of roasted corn filled his nose and his stomach grumbled. His mouth salivated too and he just remembered how long he'd gone without eating. He gave it another sniff. It seemed safe. He then tried one-a small, nugget shaped chunk of dried corn.

And waited.

A couple minutes passed. He didn't vomit, choke, explode, or just pass out and die. But...

He tried another one and frowned. "These smell way better than they taste." He sighed. Whatever, it was better than nothing. He grabbed a few bags and shoved them into his sack.

It was a miracle, really, that the food was still good. He could smell the rotted stuff, sure. It sat on counters-mushy, moldy, unidentifiable mounds. He didn't dare touch it, nevermind eat it. But the corn was edible, even crisp, still. He remembered reading somewhere online that packaged chips last for a long while, and he just believed that to mean a few months after their sell-by date.

He couldn't find a sell-by date on the chips, nor would he be able to read it, anyways, but it'd have to be at least years since it was packaged.

Next was his fuel for the fires. He looked around and found a counter with a strange, rusting machine on its top. He vaulted over it-behind was a set of drawers and files, already opened. He pulled out "papers"- thick, yellow sheets of some rigid material- and shoved them into his bag as well. He guessed the machine was some sort of cash register, and these records, maybe, of transactions? Like files of receipts. That didn't explain why they were full-sized though. Nor what could possibly be written on them. He pulled one out and tried hard to somehow decipher it.

He stared at the characters, turning them over in his head, analyzing them.

Nothing.

Jalen groaned. His legs had begun to burn and his feet were sore. He glanced around and found a good spot to rest- a short break wouldn't hurt. Jalen sat on a piece of rubble facing outside and crunched thoughtfully on the snack, trying to piece together what he knew about the town.

Humans, at some point, inhabited this city.

He knew that much from the size and shape of the doors, and the beds, and the food. It was similar, if not identical to Earth.

Next was where they went. Well...

Something happened to them, and they left.

Jalen nodded. Sounds about right. That's what he was sure about, anyways.

It was deeper than being just killed by monsters, as simple and sensical that seems. If it were the case, there would at least leave bodies. He hadn't seen so much as a single human corpse. There was blood, sure. A lot of that, dark and ominous smears across walls. But the bodies were nowhere to be found-not even bones.

Where had they all gone? He didn't have a clue, but a cold and sinking feeling in his stomach told him he wouldn't like it.

He scratched his head. Earth was long behind him. Jalen couldn't confirm it, but he didn't think he was on his home planet anymore...and with no sun or moon, he couldn't even be sure if he was in the same lightyear of his planet, either.

Home could be millions, billions of miles away. He stared outside. From here, his view of the sky was blocked by the rise of the surrounding buildings. But past that sky, past the atmosphere...what would there be? What about just past this city? Was he the only human alive on the whole planet? If he died, technically, it could mark the end of the human race for the whole world.

And no one knew where he was. Or could help him.

That's what weighed on him the heaviest. Nevermind fear, or anger, or shock. The isolation was simply brutal. Crushing loneliness in the scope of how big everything was, how small he was, and how he would die here and nothing in the city would change...it hallowed out his chest and simply made him cold.

Another distant screech.

"Shoot." He drew in a breath. "That's what I get for thinking." He stood. It was time to go. He could think more later, preferably in the safety of the tower. He shouldered his bag, tied his shoes, then prepared to leave.

He stepped back out onto the street, somehow colder now despite being out of the shade. He rubbed his shoulders. What now? It was just after one. He had more than five hours until sunset, and could get him with multiple hours to spare if he tried.

Across the road was a clothes shop. A mannequin modeling some clothes-now practically unrecognizable tatters, stood behind a cracked glass front. Jalen glanced down at his own clothes, suddenly self aware. His school uniform, what used to be a prestigious navy blue suit now dirty and torn...his sister would be furious and he wouldn't blame her. It was an expensive uniform.

Well. Even if she would get angry. It would at least mean he would see her again.

He took a drink of his water and set off again.