LAST IMMUNE: THE APOCALYPSE KING

Chapter Three: When Tomorrow Comes

The world around Cole was on fire, the city buildings were torn apart, traffic lights blinked green to yellow to red over an empty intersection as abandoned vehicles filled the highway.

Moving along the wall of the overpass with a steel pipe in his right hand, Cole kept his boots light and his breathing controlled.

ALERT ! NATIONAL EMERGENCY — PATHOGEN CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN — VECTOR: AIR BORNE / FLUID / CONTACT WITH AFFECTED INDIVIDUALS — CIVIL EMERGENCY DECLARED IN 47 STATES — AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION

The one bar signal on his phone downloaded a broadcast message in pieces and he found a slight relief knowing someone was handling the situation.

Cole watched the spaces between cars for any Greys or at least a survivor, almost making it to the end of the overpass when a Grey jumped out from under a delivery truck.

It gave no warning, no sound, just a slender shape crawling from beneath the truck, pale and deadly fast.

Cole had half a second to react and he swung high, catching it across the shoulder as the forceful impact travelled up his wrists.

The Grey twisted but didn't drop down. It quickly found its feet and came back at him with its teeth blackened, its mouth hung open and a snarl coming out of it.

Cole hit it harder again across the side of the head and finally it dropped dead.

"Watch out!" A voice shouted from a distance and Cole turned around to see a second Grey coming towards him in a dead sprint, its bare feet slapping asphalt and he got the pipe up in time to block rather than strike.

The Grey's weight slammed into the steel pipe and drove Cole two steps back. It was a lot bigger than the first one and still had the shape of a large man.

They struggled for three seconds until Cole got his footing, twisted his body and used the Grey's momentum to send it into the side of a car.

The side mirror snapped off as the Grey bounced off the car and fell to the ground. Cole moved in and hit the Grey on the head, once then twice until its skull smashed in.

With the Grey's blood splattered over his face and body, Cole stood in the street breathing hard. His palm had cut open from his steel pipe as his blood ran slow across his fingers.

"Help! Please, help me, please!" He heard the same voice from earlier and turned to see a man on the overpass bridge thirty meters ahead, pressed against the barrier with a Grey between him and his way out.

The man was older, probably in his fifties and had his dress shirt torn at the collar. He'd lost one shoe somewhere and was holding a laptop bag in front of him like it would do anything.

The Grey moved fast but wrong cause its leg wasn't cooperating, making an uneven, scraping sound on the concrete.

Cole quickly and quietly closed the distance, striking the pipe into the back of the Grey's neck before it registered his movement.

The Grey dropped dead at the man's feet and the man made a sound that was almost a laugh and a cry as he peed on his pants.

"Let's keep going," Cole said to him, scanning the road ahead. "Stay close to the wall and keep quiet—"

"Where do we keep going?" The man asked with tremor on his face, unashamed of the mess he'd made on himself.

Cole looked at him. "Away from here."

"Away." The man repeated the word like he was tasting it, looking down at the Grey on the ground, and then at Cole.

His eyes were red around the rims, the particular red of someone who had been crying for hours and had ran out tears. "Away to where exactly?"

"Somewhere that isn't the middle of an open road." Cole answered.

The man nodded slowly but still didn't move.

"Sir." Cole kept his voice low and even. "We need to move. Right now."

"My wife turned to one of them last night." The man said. "She was in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard it." He paused. "My son lives in Portland and I've been trying to connect him since morning." He looked at the phone in his free hand. "But Portland is probably the same as here isn't it?"

Cole didn't answer.

"The broadcast said 47 states," the man almost smiled. "47, they couldn't even let us have a chance."

"You need to walk with me," Cole said. "Right now, there are more of them and we're standing in the open."

The man finally looked at him — really looked, the way people did when they were deciding something. He glanced at the steel pipe, the blood on Cole's hand, the way Cole positioned his back and his eyes on every gap between the cars.

"You look like you know what you're doing," the man said.

"No sir, not slightly."

"Are you scared?"

Cole considered lying as the best option. "No."

The man nodded like this confirmed something. "I was scared all night," he said quietly. "But after seeing you, I'm not anymore and that's the part that worries me."

"It's just the adrenaline cycling out, it's completely normal."

"Is it?" The man took one step, not toward Cole but toward the railing and put his hand on it. He looked over the edge at the drop below, 16ft down to the service road. "My wife's name was Carol," he said. "She was forty one years."

Cole went still.

"My son's name is Patrick." The man's voice didn't break and it somehow made everything worse. "He coached little league on Saturdays. He was terrible at it but the kids loved him anyway."

"Sir—"

"I'm very tired," the man said simply. "And there is nobody left."

"You don't know that."

"47 states, son." He sighed. "I can do the math."

Cole took a slow step toward him and offered his hand. "Please, come with me. I know there are other survivors. I believe the government will take care of the situation soon.”

"It was really nice of you to help me." The man straightened up from the railing and for a moment Cole thought he'd gotten through.

The man looked at him with gratitude, then stepped over the railing before Cole could grab him.

He was just a man who made his decision and was at peace with it, in a way that Cole would never stop thinking about.

Cole stood at the railing for a moment, looking down at the service road below as the old man lay dead on the concrete.