Cinderpocalyptic

    Dawn had no idea what to expect as she approached the house. There was noise inside, but she couldn’t tell if it was friend or foe.

    Friend. That was an odd concept. She’d been alone for three years now. It was so hard to believe there could be other survivors here.

    Now wasn’t the time to back down, though. Not if this was her chance to find others. It didn’t smell of death. It smelled faintly of cooked meat, like burgers and hotdogs on the grill, not the rabbits and ducks she laid over her fire pit.

    Dad made hotdogs over the grill. Everyone was swimming except for Dawn. She was on her period and too embarrassed to try a tampon like Mom suggested. Sitting under the covered patio, she watched Dad flip the burgers.

    Then, all at once, everyone’s cell phones lit up. It was like something straight out of a movie.

    Dawn’s phone vibrated, and she picked it up. It was from something called the CDC.

    Written next to the door, in big red spray painted letters was 6 D 0 A. Six dead. Zero alive. It was how they started sorting those they could help and those they couldn’t. It had been all over when she first fled after it got her parents. Here it was next to the door.

    Sounds came from behind the door, muffled and hard to tell. She hadn’t always been alone. There had been times when there were others. That was before it all fell apart.

    “You should wear something nice,” Lyn commented. Dawn met her on the road.

    Dawn rolled her eyes. “It’s a FEMA camp. I don’t think they’ll care how I look.”

    “There could be boys there.”

    “I don’t care about boys.” It was a lie, but the last thing Dawn wanted was to wear clothes that got in the way or carry more than she needed.

    Lyn elbowed her. “Oh, come on. What if your prince charming is there? You’ll need to impress him.”

    Dawn looked straight ahead. They were in Kansas or Nabraska. She wasn’t sure which, but the land around them was flat, letting her see for miles. “I’m sure he’ll be as dirty as me.”

    “No one is as dirty as you. Now look, there’s a town coming up, according to my map, and we should be able to find something there.”

    “We should avoid it.”

    It was Lyn’s turn to roll her eyes. “There aren’t any of the sickies left. If there were, the government people wouldn’t be asking us to trek to camps. It’s be too dangerous.”

    Dawn hoisted her backpack higher up on her shoulders. “Go if you want, but I’m not wasting my time.”

    Lyn folded her arms together. “Maybe I will. And I’m not bringing anything back for you if I do.”

    Gripping her pistol in one hand, Dawn reached for the door. Her whole arm shook. What if she was wrong? What if there weren’t survivors alive?

    She shook her head. There had to be. Who else could put up the signs? The sickies couldn’t.

    A herd of sickies had passed through. The half dragged gait was obvious in the dirt. They could still be around looking for food. Being out in the open was risky. Dawn could be caught and they would kill and eat her if they found her.

    But the crisp white paper stapled to the telephone pole was too much to pass up. She had to see what it was.

    Party My Place Please Come was all it said. A small map was drawn under it naming some streets.

    “Survivors,” she whispered to herself. It didn’t seem possible but the paper wasn’t weathered. It hadn’t been here before. Someone else had to be alive.

    Her hands shook as she reached out and touched the clean paper. Smudged, sooty fingerprints were left behind.

    Dawn pulled her hands back. Bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t be seen like this. They would think she was a sickie. They’d shoot her.

    The paper flapped in a the breeze.

    Dawn gave a quick scan of the area, then ripped the paper off the pole. She folded it twice, then tucked it in her shirt.

    Dawn’s hand wrapped around the door knob. For better or worse, prince charming or hell on earth, she was going in. She was done being alone.