Ai's POV

It takes strength to flip and lower my feet down to the piece of brick that juts out of the wall, hanging to the ledge for dear life.

I stop to steady my nerves, trying not to freak out. I hate heights. Not that I've not done this a thousand times. I'd leave through the door like a normal person but this isn't a normal place. The main entrance and staircase collapsed a long time ago.

This is the only way in or out.

I steel myself, and reach out my left leg and fall onto a small slanted roof. It's not a big slant so I don't slide off, not immediately. The roof follows the building around the side, suspending over a balcony. I crawl along holding grooves in the exposed brickwork until I meet the narrowest part and drop onto another balcony below. I repeat this a few times until I'm at ground level, hidden from the street. Then draw myself against the wall, scanning the darkness.

Blind to the lack of light, I stay still against the cold bricks, straining to hear above the noisy crickets and their chirping.

Nothing seems to stir.

There aren't many creatures alive out here, even the birds are dead. Sometimes wild dogs and cats slink past our settlement, lucky to have escaped being eaten; but usually they stay closer to the districts.

Only bugs seem to thrive here.

Vamps don't eat bugs, even if we do.

Seeing and hearing nothing, I retreat into the shadows. At the end of the alley, behind our building, is a steel door built into the brickwork. A side entrance to our main community complex we affectionately call 'The Coop' - a cage to keep the foxes out.

I knock twice and hang back, waving at the camera pitched in the far dark corner. The auto lock used to work with our coms but as of late it's been buggy, so we're reduced to manual operation. I doubt it will ever get fixed. Once things break out here they stay broken. There's a buzz and the door lock releases.

I step inside and the gloom gives way to a large space bathed in low light, lit by a few of those old fashioned bulbs hanging from the ceiling—old world technology.

Tori, hunkered down in the guts of something mechanical, is on-duty for the evening. Wheels, wire, and bits of scrap metal strew about haphazardly. She looks up as I enter, lost in her world of connecting parts. She gives me the barest of nods, then carries on.

I leave her to it, heading out, past the workshop towards the storage areas.

Most of the outsiders here keep rides in the garage. But since Cal is our resident fixer–mechanic slash engineer of the group–he has access to extra workspace closer to our quarters. My bike, laid up in the alcove facing a bolt hole, is a lightweight roadster, an older model from before when technology was clunky. It requires constant care and hours of maintenance. I'm not a fan but Cal loves this stuff.

I snatch my helmet and sit astride, balance the weight of it, before hitting the engine button. After a few seconds it sputters and dies. A couple more failed attempts have me cursing. I slide off the seat and give the wheel a kick.

Childish I know, but I immediately feel better.

I glower at my bike, sighing out loud to no one in particular. Cal would fix it but I prefer not tempt fate, or that foul mood of his.

It's getting late, I need to leave soon if I'm to meet Daemon and be back before nightfall.

His request has me worried. I pull out my com and type a response to his earlier message, asking him to collect me, instead of meeting him at the Gate like he suggested. Then I send him the location of a spot a few clicks west of here.

Daemon doesn't know where we live and I'd prefer to keep it that way.

It's cooler here, without all the machinery and tight spaces; goosebumps scare up my arms, making my skin tingle, despite being covered.

I shelve my helmet back where it was, rubbing thin sleeves through the leather of my jacket, then start down a narrow tunnel; a quick exit, one leading to the streets. A silver panel within the passage takes a rough scan of the bio-chip in my hand. Edges flash from red to green and the rusted grate unlocks. I ease through the opening and push it shut, pausing for the click before moving off.

It's not very far to the location, about a two-minute walk, if that.

I pull my hood up, to keep off the chill off and to hide my eyes–more out a habit than a security measure–and creep out from under the scented tendrils of a wall-climber into a small side street. Shivering, I pick my way out, through the debris scattering the place and walk briskly.

It takes no time at all. But when I get to location, there's nobody but lone empty streets and bone cold breezes for company.

My brother hasn't arrived yet.

Blowing ghost breaths, a quick glance at my com tells me nothing new. That doesn't mean he's not coming. He could be in his cab right now. After a short while of rubbing my arms and thighs to entice blood to flow, alternating between crouching and hugging the walls, I hear loose gravel sliding under footfalls.

It's not Daemon. He'd be driving not walking.

I get to my feet and stall there—unsure what to do–then retreat quickly into the flora, my humanity smothered by honeysuckle and enveloped in broken shadows.

For a few beats my heart skips wildly over the endless chirping. I count to three, frozen in place. My line of sight is subdued by intense strands of foliage tickling my nose and face.

This was stupid. I may be hidden but I can't see a darned thing. Something... is out there.

Eve, I'm going to die out here.

After calming my nerves with a lungful of oxygen; after hearing nothing but damn crickets; after a lifetime which might be closer to a minute; I risk popping my head through the green.

My vision, clear of plant-life and near enough adjusted, is a sharper. I'm able to pick out shapes and outlines of the buildings in the soft, falling light. My breath fogs the quiet space around me like a shroud.

Only the wind stirs, rustling dead leaves at me.

He obviously didn't get the message.

Why don't you read your messages Daemon? Are you too busy for me now?

It's only been minutes but it feels hours and hours. I'm not the most patient person. Probably the least. And probably a gourmet meal just standing here, laid out ready to eat.

I need to move.

My stomach growls, upset by whatever I ate. Resisting the urge to hurl, I peer out further west, over to where I wish to be. Dim lights beckon, marking the tops of the bridge towers. I'm exactly halfway. The Coop-picked for its position near the bay-is the closest settlement to the South Gate. It's obvious Daemon isn't coming. If I go back now the risk is the same.

And it's less than five minutes to the Gate, if I run.

Mind made up, I stay low to the sides, darting between the abandoned car shells when the walls tail off abruptly. My plan is to sneak past, row on row, of derelict, broken-down buildings, staying close to edges as possible. Near the strip you can blend with the crowds, but here in the dead lands being visible is a death sentence. Once I get to the open, I'll have to make a break for it.

I doubt anyone is crazy enough to walk the streets at night (except me). That doesn't stop me jumping at every shadow or clinging to each hiding place I find. When I turn to the crossroads, a part-boarded tunnel, a few steps down, bares its mouth. I duck at the edge, peeking out, legs wobbling, in the closing gloom.

Around the shell of the underground exit is a ghost city, all shades of black with a creeping moon. Somehow, some when, it got dark.

Lights pull me in across the water. I push aside memories of living inside those nice, safe walls; vanilla ice cream, shopping trips, driving to the lakes with the roof down. They come at me when I least expect it. I have a sure thing out here. No genetic destiny. No vipers. No Academy. Only me, Cal, and a mangy cat; everything I need in the world.

Halfway behind me, something shuffles in the inky hole of the subway entrance. Without thinking, without waiting to see, I scrabble onto the street and hurry away, hood up, towards a barricade of abandoned cars. Left that way during the Mass Evac when thousands upon thousands migrated in.

I'm shaking as I run, though not from the cold. A blood-sucker is tailing me, or I imagine one is. I can't tell. Not without turning to look and I'm sure as hell not doing that!

It could be anything, a fox or a dog, except from the sound one foot is dragging.

I could curse Daemon sometimes.Who sends an urgent message then doesn't check their com?

No one forced you to go on foot Ai. What are you trying to prove?

***

Thumbnail image credit to the amazing Harpiya on deviantART! https://www.artstation.com/harpiya