Neither of us moved.
The wind shifted, and the groaning from below swelled briefly—a chorus of ruined voices carried up from the parking lot. I watched Sloane’s face as she listened to it,watched the understanding settle into her expression, slow and terrible.
She lowered her hand from my shoulder.
“So it’s everywhere,” she said quietly, not a question.
I didn’t answer; there was nothing to say that wouldn’t make it worse.
Instead, I pressed the transmit button one last time.
“SS Mariner, this is Bay City Aquarium. Two survivors in a fortified structure. Requesting that you maintain this channel for future contact, if possible. Over.”
Static crackled.
Then the captain’s voice came back, softer now.
“Copy that, Aquarium. We’ll keep Channel Sixteen open.”
A pause.
“You two stay alive in there.”
The static swallowed his voice, and it was just the two of us again on the roof with the wind and the groaning and the last red edge of the sun sinking below the waterline.
Sloane sat down slowly on the gravel. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared out at the darkening ocean.
I turned the volume down on the radio but left it on; the soft crackle was barely audible. I sat down beside her.
We didn’t speak.
There was nothing left to pretend. No, maybe. Noitmight not be that bad. Nosomeone will fixthis.
The entire East Coast.
Communications down.
Military failing.
Ports silent.
And below us, in the falling dark, dozens of dead things circled the building with infinite, mindless patience—waitingfor us to make a mistake.
I looked at Sloane, and in the silence between us, we both understood the same thing without having to say it.
No one was coming, and whatever happened next, we were on our own.
* * *
I stared out across the water. Long, rolling swells catching the last orange streaks of sunlight. Seagulls gliding over the surface as if nothing had changed. The disconnect was almost unbearable. Forty-eight hours ago this waterfront had been packed with tourists and kids dragging their parents inside to see the exhibits.
Beside me, Sloane hadn’t moved; her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, holding herself together.
I reached down and flipped the radio off. The static died instantly, and the silence that replaced it pressed in from every direction.
The sun slipped below the horizon. The last strip of light vanished into the water, and darkness came fast thereafter.
I exhaled slowly, picked up the radio, and turned toward the hatch.