The car made good sounds. Steady sounds. Like breathing but metal.
I watched the world go by through the window. Everything was broken here. Not just building-broken like back at the gray place. Broken-broken. Like the world had given up trying.
"What happened here?" Lily whispered.
The man's eyes found us in the mirror. "Everything."
That wasn't really an answer. But his voice had that flat sound again. The sound that meant no more questions.
We passed a school. At least I think it was a school. The sign was too rusted to read but there were little desks scattered in the yard. Tiny chairs overturned in dead grass. A swing set with no swings, just chains hanging down like metal fingers.
Made my stomach feel weird. Those desks were for kids like us. But smaller kids. Younger kids.
Where were they now?
The road got worse. More holes. More cracks. Plants growing up through the concrete like the earth was trying to take it back. The car bounced and made unhappy noises sometimes but kept going.
"Used to be farms here," the man said. Pointed out the window at flat empty spaces with broken fences. "Before the soil went bad."
Soil going bad. That meant no food growing. No food growing meant people had to leave or starve.
But leaving meant going somewhere else. And what if everywhere else was full?
We passed a gas station. The pumps were still there but twisted and melted like giant candles. The building behind them was just black walls and empty space where the roof used to be.
"Fire?" Lily asked.
"Fighting," the man said. "People fought over the last of the fuel. Nobody won."
That happened a lot, seemed like. Nobody winning.
The sun was getting lower. Orange light made everything look like it was burning, but slow burning. Pretty burning.
We came to a bridge. Or what was left of one. Half of it had fallen into the water below. The car had to go around, down a bumpy path that wasn't really a road.
In the water I could see metal things sticking up. Cars maybe. Or trucks. All rusted brown and covered in river plants.
"How long has it been like this?" Lily asked.
"Long enough," the man said. "Long enough that kids your age don't remember when it was different."
I tried to imagine this place with working bridges and green farms and schools full of little kids. But my brain couldn't make the picture. It was like trying to remember a dream.
The road got smaller. Narrower. Trees grew close on both sides now, but wrong trees. Too thin. Too tall. Like they were reaching for something they couldn't find.
Then we came to a sign. Metal sign all bent and shot full of holes.
"Millbrook," Lily read. "Population..." She squinted. "Can't read the number."
"Doesn't matter," the man said. "Population zero now."
Zero. Nobody.
The car slowed down as we entered what used to be Millbrook. It was bigger than I expected. Lots of houses. Two-story houses with big yards and white fences. Or they used to be white. Now they were gray and falling down.
Every window was broken. Every door hung open like a mouth.
The car stopped in front of one house that looked less broken than the others. The roof was mostly there. The walls were standing up. The front steps only had a few holes.
"Why are we stopping?" Lily asked.
"Need to check something," the man said. "Won't take long."
He got out. We got out too. Followed him up the broken steps to the front door.
The door wasn't locked. Wasn't really a door anymore, just wood hanging from old hinges.
Inside, the house was empty but not destroyed. Furniture still there, just covered in dust and spider webs. Pictures on the walls with faces I couldn't see through the grime.
Family pictures maybe. Of the people who used to live here before the population became zero.
The man walked through the rooms like he was looking for something specific. We followed, our feet making loud sounds on the creaky floor.
In the kitchen, there were dishes still on the table. Plates with forks next to them. Cups tipped over. Like the family had been eating dinner and just... stopped.
"Sit," the man said, pointing to some chairs that looked okay.
We sat. The chairs made dust clouds.
The man kept looking around. Checking windows. Looking at the back door. But casual-like. Like he was just bored.
"Are we safe here?" I whispered to Lily.
"Don't know," she whispered back.
That was honest. Better than pretending to know things you don't know.
We sat quiet for a while. I counted things automatically. Twelve plates on the shelves. Four chairs around the table. Nine cracks in the ceiling. Six...
Footsteps.
Outside footsteps. Multiple feet. Walking slow. Walking careful.
The man kept looking out the window like nothing was wrong. But something about the way he stood was different. Still relaxed, but ready. Like a cat pretending to sleep.
The footsteps got closer. Came up the front steps. Stopped at the door.
Then more footsteps. Different direction. Coming from the back of the house.
We were surrounded.
"Huh," the man said. Like he was mildly interested in something outside.
But his hand drifted toward his coat.
The front door creaked open wider.
People came in. But not people like the hungry ones from before. Not bandits or raiders or workers looking for kids.
Different people.
They wore long coats like the man, but darker. Their faces were covered with cloth wrappings, like bandages, so you couldn't see eyes or nose or mouth. Just cloth where faces should be.
They moved wrong too. Too smooth. Too quiet. Like they were floating instead of walking.
Five of them came through the front door. More came through the back. I couldn't count them all because they kept moving, kept shifting positions.
The man's gun appeared in his hand. Casual-like. Like he was just showing it to someone who might be interested.
"Evening," he said. Voice still flat and bored.
One of the wrapped people stepped forward. When it spoke, its voice sounded like it was coming from far away. Like echoing down a long tunnel.
"You shouldn't be here," it said.
"Free country," the man said.
"Not anymore," the wrapped person said. "Not here. Not this place."
Lily's hand found mine under the table. Her fingers were ice cold.
The man sounded exactly the same as always. Tired. Unimpressed.
But I could feel wrongness in the air. Like the feeling before thunder, when the sky gets heavy and your skin prickles.
These weren't ordinary bandits.
These were something else.
Something worse.