If You Were the Last Man On Earth (Closed)

New York City had never been so quiet, at least not in Bethany’s recent memory. She looked for the fiftieth time out of the window of her 27th floor apartment and shook her head. Crazy. It was not normal to see the streets so empty. There were a few cars parked haphazardly in the middle of the road. The rest were gone, at least within her view. Probably all clogging up the bridges and highways of the world. Bethany wondered vaguely if the rest of the world was so eerily desolated now. Probably, but she had no real way of knowing, seeing as there were no more news stations broadcasting to let her know.

She stepped away from the window and sighed heavily, glancing around her beautiful apartment, the apartment she had worked so hard for. She hadn’t left in two weeks, not since the outbreak had gone from across the ocean to, well, here, because people were dying faster than men in hazmat suits could clean them up off of the street. Even looking down from her window, Bethany could see a couple of bodies. She had watched the mayhem from her high up apartment, not answering any knocks at the door, not even taking phone calls. Her door had several locks and bolts, as well as a night chain, and all of them were currently in use.

The mayhem had gone on for about a week and a half. Bethany had watched it all from her window. Safe and sound. She wondered if anyone else had been smart enough not to leave their homes for any reason. The fact that she had no one else living with her probably helped. She was glad that her parents had already died so that she didn’t have to worry about them, and they, her.

Of course, staying sequestered in her apartment could only work for so long. Bethany was running out of food. She pulled her long dark hair back and up into a ponytail as she walked to the kitchen and glanced around. She pulled open all of her cupboards, as well as the refrigerator, thankful that she still had electricity, though how long that would last she had no idea. Probably not long. She had left only a third of a box of cereal, a box of rice, a couple of eggs and a few bottles of water, along with one or two other random little food items. She had stopped drinking tap water. They said on TV that the disease was airborne, but you could never be too careful.

Bethany decided that it was time to leave her apartment. She hadn’t seen anyone walking in several days, hadn’t heard the normal people noises. She grabbed a surgical mask, which they had given her at work, and put it on. She wasn’t going to risk some sick person who was still clinging to life in some alley breathing on her. There was a grocery store just down the street. It was probably closed, and people had probably looted it a week ago, but maybe it would still have something edible. She put a water bottle and a granola bar in a bag and pulled out her pepper spray. She did not intend to get mugged by anyone who might still be around.

The elevator was out of order. That didn’t really surprise Bethany, though she did roll her vibrant green eyes at the inconvenience before she turned and headed down the stairs; all 27 flights. Maybe living so high up wasn’t so great, after all. Bethany stopped in the lobby and glanced around. The lights were off and it was eerily quiet, like everything else around here nowadays. The windows in the front were smashed open, but she didn’t see anyone. Calling out to ask if anyone was around seemed like a bad idea. She crept through the broken glass and stepped outside, squinting in the sunlight. The sun seemed far too cheerful. There wasn’t a single living soul in sight. Nothing moved save for a piece of paper fluttering across the sidewalk. Bethany could see what looked like a body getting picked at by pigeons, but that was all. She gagged a little and turned away, walking swiftly towards the grocery store, pepper spray clutched in white knuckles.

Once the TV stations went off the air, Len saw the same picture outside his balcony window that he had watched on the screen. As he looked out at the East River, people falling from the bridges, every few minutes or so, some leaping on their own, others shoved off, dropping arms-flailing, splatting into the river. Mobbing pedestrians pounded their fists on fenders as they shoved their way through the standstill traffic. Horn bleating cars and trucks nudged the bodies of those on foot, not so occasionally crushing them beneath their wheels or up against the vehicle in front.

That was ten days ago. It had been quiet since then - deathly quiet. The TV and radio had stopped. The internet still worked but there seemed to be no one online. The power was still on and the faucets still ran. Len shaved. He looked at himself in the mirror for the hundredth time in the past week. The fair hair, closely cropped and receding at the temples of his weathered face, the rigid brow and deep set grey eyes, the firm jaw with distinct chin cleft, the slightly bent bridge of his nose (twice broken in his forty years) and the slightly crooked left corner of his mouth, were all incredibly very much alive and well. Everyone else was dead.

Len had been out three times in the last four days and had not encountered a single living person. It started with chills and fever, then paralysis, sometimes accompanied by tormenting convulsions. Within eight hours tops (sometimes as short as 90 minutes) the lungs shut down. That's how it got you. It attacked the nerves. That's all the doctors could figure out about it and tell the media before it got the doctors and the media too.

He had expected to die like everyone else, but if it hadn't got him after a week and a half, then maybe it just wasn't going to at all. He would have had to unboard the penthouse sooner or later and so, shotgun in hand, he had begun venturing out.

On Tuesday it was just up and down the block, maybe a half an hour, nothing too adventurous. Thursday he went down to the river and back, picked up a copy of Time with Obama on the cover, it's contents oblivious to the coming apocalypse. He stuffed his backpack with apples, lemons, carrots and potatoes from the produce store. Yesterday he walked up to the Williamsburg Bridge, stopping at the gateway and taking in the scene. A logjam of cars and trucks and vans, clogging the thoroughfare, a slow speed pile-up that never managed to untangle. There were three of four bodies slumped in and around the metal and glass dam. They never got out, not that getting out would save them. Lemmings, all of them.

Today was another day, Saturday and sunny like the whole two weeks before. Only a refreshing shower came during the night on Monday. Len put on his denim jacket, laced up his boots, slung on his backpack and grabbed his shotgun. He shut the door behind him and locked it, for the first time starting to believe that he probably no longer needed to. He descended the stairwell and out into the sunlight, meeting it with dark shades and no idea where he wanted to go. Just anywhere, to find what he could find. What else was there to do?

Bethany could see the grocery store. She sighed, relieved that there didn’t seem to be anyone around. She had been afraid of looters. She pushed open the doors, which normally would be automatic, but they seemed a bit jammed; they stayed open when she had opened them, lodged in that position. Her plan was to fill a cart with food and just take the whole thing back to her building with her. How she was going to get it up 27 floors, she hadn’t the slightest clue. She supposed she would have to take several trips. This had never been an issue when the elevator was working. At least she would stay in shape, she reasoned.

It didn’t occur to Bethany that the world would stay like this forever. She didn’t even think that, maybe, the grocery store would eventually run out of food, and there would be no one to re-stock it. That she would eventually have to find a way to fend for herself. That, really, she had no idea in the world how to do that.

She grabbed a cart and pushed through the dimly lit store, grabbing things at random off of the shelves. She loaded two large cases of water onto the bottom of the cart, trying not to think how much it was going to suck carrying those up the stairs. At her age (she would soon be celebrating the third anniversary of her 29th birthday) she was certainly still in shape; she had a small waist and flat stomach and deceptively strong arms. Thank you, personal trainers. But that didn’t mean she was keen on doing any sort of labor.

Eventually, the shopping cart was full and Bethany pushed it out of the store. She glanced around as she exited the store, not seeing anyone, then rounding the corner. Bethany looked up… and froze. There was someone walking, a man, and he was walking towards her. Her eyes widened and she backed up, letting go of her shopping cart and slowly, slowly, trying to go back into the store without him seeing her. She prayed to God that that wasn’t the stranger’s destination. People were touchy, she knew, from when there were still a couple left. The last few deaths hadn’t all been the disease. People had killed each other in panic.

He'd been out for nearly three hours. The afternoon sun glinted off the glass skyscrapers. Looking up at them, Len wondered if anyone was behind any of the windows looking back down at him. If he was alive, then it was quite possible that someone else could be as alive as he. It was just so unfathomable that he would be the only one. Somewhere in this world, someone else had to be alive. The question was whether he would want to meet such a person. If there was anyone out there that he would wish to contact, it would have to be someone out and about. If there was anyone left that knew that he was alive, it would be someone with the capability of monitoring the infrastructure - the internet when he googled, the water pressure when he turned the tap. It would be someone in control. He preferred that such a someone would remain ignorant of his well-being.

He was letting down his guard, standing right out in the middle of the street, gazing up at the walls of glass. It tugged at his survival instincts. It was not a smart thing to do. A sudden sound snapped him out of it - a metallic rattle.

Abruptly it stopped. A fleeting figure disappeared around the corner. He crouched and gripped his shotgun. Was that shopping cart there a moment ago? He couldn't be certain, but nothing else around seemed to be so capable of generating the noise. Still in his crouch, he quickly stepped to the wall of the supermarket and quietly crept along it's edge, past the shopping cart, laden haphazardly with tins and boxes and two large jugs of water.

He gripped the trigger and poked his head around the corner. There was no one there. He crept further, beneath the windows and to the front entrance where one of the doors creeked and shut. The whole entrance was glass. He could be seen if he tried to enter. If he waited it out, whoevert it was could leave by a back door. Maybe that was good. Maybe there were more than one of them. Still the opportunity to find someone alive burned inside him. He couldn't get this close and just ignore it. He looked around and saw an office chair lying on its side on the opposite sidewalk. He crept backwards across the street watching the supermarker entrance and the windows, seeing no one inside. Retrieving the chair he carried it down the sidealk behind a parked semi trailer. Peeking between the cab and the trailer he still saw no activity inthe grocery store windows.

Shotgun in one hand and chair in the other, he came back across the street and hurled the chair through the left most window. Before th glass finished shattering he was slipping through the front entrance. He crouched behind checkout number three, calmed his breath as best he could and listened.

Bethany breathed a sigh of relief. She had, at least, made it into the store. She stood within the door for a moment, listening hard. For a minute, she didn’t hear anything. But, then, there it was; the distinct sound of footsteps, a sound she hadn’t heard, save for her own, in days.

Instead of relief, however, she was filled with fear. She crept back, hiding behind checkout number six, the furthest from the door. She could go further into the store, she knew, but she was curious. She hadn’t seen another living, breathing human being in so long, she missed it. She hadn’t spoken out loud, hadn’t had any interaction, and she thought she might lose it. Bethany wondered if she even still retained her ability to speak.

Her eyes locked on the doors, waiting. She saw the vague reflection on the glass, but could tell nothing, not even the gender of the person. They seemed to be walking away, crossing the street. What were they doing? They disappeared, and Bethany breathed a sigh of relief. She relaxed, sinking to the floor.

The shattering of the glass caught her by surprise. Bethany let out a scream. She hadn’t been looking, had just heard the ear-shattering noise, and she screamed. She clamped her hand over her mouth, shaking, but it was too late. The noise had escaped her, and whomever had just broken open that window had surely heard.

She had never been religious, but now Bethany was silently praying for her life. Maybe they hadn’t seen her. Maybe they were…. Frustrated, yes, frustrated at being all alone. Maybe they… No, maybe they wanted to rape and kill her and leave her with the other corpses rotting in the street. Bethany let out a choking sob, then clamped her hand over her mouth again. She was fairly certain she was utterly screwed. Apparently, staying locked in her apartment for so long had been all for nothing.

He managed to control his breathing to an adequate level so that he could hear well enough. Breaking the window was probably not the smartest thing. An alarm could have gone off. One still might if there was a delay. He looked up at one of the security cameras and wondered if it worked. He wondered if anyone would be monitoring it. They would be able to see where he was and how he was armed. Maybe coming in here wasn't such a great idea after all. Then he heard it. To the right, a whimper - a female whimper. Someone was definitely there.

Crouched on the balls of his feet, he crept to the edge of the checkout, braced the shotgun on his left and pointed it in the direction of the sound, sticking his head out just enough to look down the sight.

"Who's there!" he yelled. "I know you're there! Are you alone?"

Looking around, Bethany realized she could see his reflection in some metal paneling, vaguely. He was holding a shotgun, she was fairly certain. She bit back another whimper. She had no desire to get shot. No desire whatsoever. She should never have left her apartment. She shouldn’t have wasted so much time in the store. She should have – no. No, there was no use thinking of should have, could have. Hindsight was 20/20, but Bethany had no time to waste on regretting things. She was in a serious situation.

“Who’s there? I know you’re there! Are you alone?”

Bethany almost laughed. Are you alone. No, she actually had every person who should have been in their now God-forsaken city hiding with her behind checkout number six. What did he think? Well, her hunter was definitely male, if she hadn’t been certain already. He sounded wary of her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before she responded.

“I’m behind the last checkout,” she said, in a normal voice. She didn’t want to shout back at him. “I’m alone and unarmed. Don’t shoot me, please.” Her voice held a slight tremor, an edge, like she might break down into tears at any moment. She really hoped this man didn’t kill her. She didn’t want to have lived through so much just to get shot by some random guy.

“I’m alone and unarmed. Don’t shoot me, please.”

Her voice wavered on "please", but she knew that he had a gun. He couldn't be too careful.

"If you're alone and unarmed, prove it and I won't shoot. Step out slowly with your hands up."

Bethany took another deep breath. She didn’t want to do this. She did not want to step out in the open where some guy could shoot her. She shook her head.

“Look, no offence, but you could just shoot me anyway if I step out. What if I put my hands up in the air where you can see them and then you put down your gun and we can meet somewhere in the middle? I really, really, really don’t want to die today.”

Len was beginning to believe that she was just alone and scared, until her response. People in a life or death crisis (at least people not in such a crises on a regular basis) usual automatically defer to their survival instincts and readily capitulate. Her psychology didn't add up. She was either lying about being unarmed or really, really stupid. He was determined to figure out which quickly.

"All right," he agreed. "Let's see your hands."

It occurred to Bethany that if he shot one of her hands, it would hurt quite a bit, but she wasn’t exactly in a mood to argue and he could just come around and kill her, anyway. She raised her hands. They were still perfectly manicured; French tips. Distinctly feminine, with a silver ring on her right index finger.

“I didn’t think anyone else was alive,” Bethany said absently. She leaned over, hands still in the air, and peeked around the corner of the checkout to try and get a better look at him. He mostly just looked scary and intimidating holding a gun in the shadowy grocery store. “Have you seen anyone else?”

The hands exposed themselves above the counter. That was all that he wanted. He saw them. He didn't look at them. He just reacted, jumping out only to see her peeking around the corner and trying to talk. He wasn't listening. Toting the shotgun in his left, Len lunged forward with four big strides and snared both of her delicate wrists together in his right paw, dragging her out of the checkout and to her feet. Her body jostled against his as he grappled her by the waist.

If she was genuine, he could apologize later, but he needed to get her outside - on his turf to be safe.

"Come along," he said gruffly and started to take her towards the door. "Now!"

Bethany squealed and thrashed, tugging hard as her arms were nearly yanked from their sockets. “What the hell?” She stumbled, her feet scrambling to find purchase on the dusty tiled floor. She fell against her captor. It was like hitting a solid brick wall. One that was rapidly dragging her outside.

“Stop!” Obviously, he wasn’t going to, but there was no harm in asking… or demanding. “You’re hurting me!” It was true. Her wrists hurt where they were trapped together and her arms ached as he pulled her along. And then there was the issue of maintaining her balance. That wasn’t going very well.

He got her to the gaping hole in the glass doorway and she tried to be careful when she ducked through not to get snagged on some of the broken glass that was still clinging to the frame. She blinked and squinted out in the bright sunlight. The contrast to the darkness she had been in moments before was startling. Bethany felt like crying, but she held it back for now. He hadn’t killed her yet, that was something.

"Stop! You're hurting me!"

His captive squealed as he dragged her through the smashed out entrance and into the daylight. With his arms firmly around her, but without releasing his grip on the shotgun, he stood her up straight, chest to chest. She was a woman, utterly unimposing is stature, perhaps even delicate with her shaky breaths. He crouched, his pecs brushing roughly down along her curves, and in one motion hoisted her up over her right shoulder in a fireman's carry. Her arms and hair dangled down his back just as her legs did his front.

Toting her away around the corner he stayed close to the wall and broke into a brisk jog.

The sun was almost blinding after the darkness of the store. Bethany squinted, but her captor’s face was in glare for the moment she could see it. By the time she got her eyes to focus, he was scooping her up with one arm and holding her over his shoulder. She screamed again, not thinking about anyone else who may or may not hear her.

“Put me down right now!” She was half-crying, but she was more angry now than anything. Well, angry and scared of that whole raped-and-then-murdered-with-a-shotgun thing. Bethany swung her legs, trying hard to get a good kick to his stomach or, preferably, a bit lower, but the angle wasn’t working for her. She beat his back with closed fists, clawed at his shirt. “You can’t just carry people around!”

One block, two blocks, then three, he carried her down the Manhattan sidewalk. She kicked and screamed the whole way to no avail. Her flailing limbs were nothing compared to what his sturdy frame had been through in its forty years. He turned the corner and steadied his pace to a quick walk, sparing his passenger the rough jolts of a springy-stepped jog. Another block and Len was becoming more convinced that she really was alone.

Her vocal protests meant even less, although he did listen to them he ignored them entirely. Halfway down the next block he turned into the revolving door of a hotel and toted her across the lobby to the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time, he started to break a slight sweat. Pushing into the empty hall on the second floor, only the emergency lighting was on.

"Stay quiet," he advised the girl with a whisper. He tried to sound reassuring. "Stay quiet until we know that there's no one here. Then I'm gonna put you down, okay?" He found the nearest door locked, then the next and the next as well. Finally room 212 was slightly ajar. He pushed it open gently and eased into the sunlight. There was no one, not a sound, not even a wrinkle in the bedspread.

Len sat her down gently on the edge of the bed, then grabbed her bag and stepped back towards the door quickly. He held up a finger for quiet as he slung his backpack onto the floor and pulled out his flashlight. Then he shone it in the bathroom. Not a soul was there either. He relaxed and sat down and leaned the shotgun against the wall beside him, careful to keep it within easy reach.

"Forgive me," he said. "Can't be too careful." He went through her bag. A water bottle, granola bar and a small mace, he pulled each object out one by one, eyed it and placed it back in the bag. He handed it back to her, looking her over. She was a woman, an urban professional, soft and feminine, rather pretty (as if that mattered at a time like this). Her skin was healthy and white, with hands that had done no manual labor other than typing and slicing tomatoes and cucumbers.

"So what are you doing out here all by yourself?" he asked.

He was taking her so far away from the grocery store, and from her home. Bethany’s throat was starting to hurt. She stopped hitting and kicking, her arms and legs getting tired. It was clearly of no use, anyway. He was too strong for her to get away if he didn’t want her to.

He walked into a hotel she recognized. He shushed her and she stopped her complaints altogether, not keen on being found by someone else. He hadn’t killed her, at least not yet, but someone else might not be so kind. The man walked around the room they were in, searching to make sure there was no one here, not even dead bodies. Bethany sat on the bed. She was tempted to bolt towards the door to the hallway, but she figured he would just catch her. Her eyes followed him everywhere she moved, but her body stayed perfectly still.

And he was asking her forgiveness. As if. He searched through her things and she felt herself bristling. Who was he, the one who was pointing guns at her and kidnapping her from a grocery store to search through her things?

“What do you think? I was trying to get food. I ran out. I wasn’t about to stay in my apartment and starve to death.” Bethany glared up at him. “And now, some scavenger animal or homeless person is probably going to take my cart. Or all that food is going to go bad. You know that the whole food thing is a limited supply, right? It’s only around for so long before there’s nothing left and I’m going to have to figure out how to… farm or something. You asshole.” She crossed her arms. “What about you? What are you doing, running around and snatching innocent women?”

She was behaving. That was good.

“And now, some scavenger animal or homeless person is probably going to take my cart. Or all that food is going to go bad. You know that the whole food thing is a limited supply, right? It’s only around for so long before there’s nothing left and I’m going to have to figure out how to… farm or something. You asshole.”

Len could not keep the grin from his lips. She was lashing out over such trivial things.

"There's lots of food," he said. "Food grows." He readjusted his position to lean against the wall. "Name's Len," he offered as he took note of her condition. She was trying to be defiant, but obviously resigning herself to his authority. She sat on the edge of the bed, her posture awkwardly straight. Underneath it all she was obviously scared. This was all completely understandable.

"The most important thing right now is just how alone we are," Len changed the subject. "Are you alone?"

“Food might grow, but I certainly don’t know how to grow food.” Bethany looked indignant. She continued to glare at him, though the shotgun leaning against the wall made her very nervous, indeed. “Do you?” She frowned, thinking a minute. “You haven’t answered my question. What were you doing out there?”

“Name’s Len.”

“Bethany.”

She took a breath, straightening her back even further. "Of course I’m alone. Does it look like I have a lot of people with me?” She rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly think that if I wasn’t alone, I would have gone into that store by myself? I’m not stupid.” She sighed. “I live by myself, if that’s what you mean. And you’re the first person I’ve seen who wasn’t a rotting corpse on the street in weeks. I haven’t even spoken out loud in as long. Are…you alone, too?”

Are…you alone, too?”

Len took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Yes."

He scratched the back of his head and thought a moment.

"Look ... Bethany," he addressed her. "If you're alone and I'm alone then there's nothing out there to be afraid of. The world is ours, for what it's worth," he shrugged. "But what might be a problem is if we aren't alone. Because if we aren't alone, then anyone we run into will probably be really scared, and if they're really scared then that could make them dangerous. Understand?"

“Dangerous like you?” Bethany sassed. She stood up and looked up into his face. “Yes, I understand. And obviously, I’ve been able to take care of myself well enough so far.” She kind of liked that whole ‘the world is ours’ thing. She didn’t mention that taking care of herself meant hiding in her apartment for three weeks. “You seem like you can take care of yourself, too. Obviously you can just pick any threatening or non-threatening people up and carry them away.” She wasn’t bitter. Not at all.

Bethany sighed and paced back and forth a couple of times. She ran a hand down her face. “Okay… Len.” She glanced back at him. “I don’t like you. I really, really don’t like you. You scared the hell out of me, I thought you were going to shoot me, or rape me and then shoot me, or torture me or eat me or something.” Bethany grimaced. “But since you didn’t, and we’re both alone, and…” She sighed heavily. This next part was going to physically hurt her to say. “I don’t know how to survive in a world like this alone. Once the food that someone else made is gone and the electricity turns off… it should eventually, right? I’m confused about why it hasn’t, yet. Anyway, when all that stuff happens, I’ll die. I’ll starve or something. But you, you seem like you know what you’re doing. So maybe we… should….”

Bethany swallowed hard. She couldn’t ask for his help. She was too proud, too stubborn. She shook her head. “You know, forget it. Just take me back to the grocery store, and stay out of my way. No one's going to bother me.”

She stood, and Len sat up straighter so as to guard the shotgun.

"Suit yourself," said Len. Go back to the grocery store. Load up on cheerios and popcorn. Tell you what. You wanna grow food? Put it in the ground and watch it grow. Take some of those potatoes, some carrots, beans, peas, corn, all that shit and go down to Central Park or somewhere and stick it all in the ground." Nobody from the city gonna stop you. I aint gonna stop you." He stood up, slung his pack over his shoulders and grabbed the shotgun.

"So you ready to go?" he asked as he leaned to open the door. "I'll leave you where I found you if you want. That is what you want, right? You said it yourself, you don't know how to survive alone." He could sense the agitation in her muscles, all up and down her slender body. Every long, dark hair in her ponytail protested. Her chest inhaling frustration, exhaling fear.

"What's the matter? Can't make it alone? Without makeup? Sushi? Sex and the City? American Idol? Survivor? Honey, look at you. You don't know survivor. Reality TV just hit a whole new level."

"Suit yourself. Go back to the grocery store. Load up on cheerios and popcorn. Tell you what. You wanna grow food? Put it in the ground and watch it grow. Take some of those potatoes, some carrots, beans, peas, corn, all that shit and go down to Central Park or somewhere and stick it all in the ground. Nobody from the city gonna stop you. I aint gonna stop you."

Oh, he was unbearable. And he was just cementing in the idea that she did not want him around. Bethany tried to stand up taller, but he still maxed her height by a good bit. “You know what? Screw you. I’ll find my own way back.”

This was her turf, at least. She had a vague idea of where she was, though before she’d always traveled it by taxi.

Her breathing picked up. He was insulting her. She was getting more and more agitated by the moment.

“Shut up!”

"What's the matter? Can't make it alone? Without makeup? Sushi? Sex and the City? American Idol? Survivor? Honey, look at you. You don't know survivor. Reality TV just hit a whole new level."

Bethany’s fists clenched. She wanted to hit him. Hell. She was going to hit him. She wheeled around and stepped up close, getting in his face. “I’m no one’s honey,” she said. Her voice was lower than before, practically a growl. Her manicured fingers were balled into fists. “Don’t disrespect me, Len.” She spit his name like it was a dirty word. “I’ll figure it out. I can learn to plant things and whatever. I’ll bet there are survival books in the bookstore. And no one’s going to make me pay anymore, either.”

He gripped the shotgun as she stood up and approached. He couldn't help but notice her body wrought with tension, her chest bellowing under her clothes. He had to remember to look her in the eyes. Then she made fists as if to strike him. Barrel of the gun in his right hand, he gripped one of her wrists in his left.

"And no one’s going to make me pay anymore, either."

"No one wants your money anymore," Len remarked smugly as he came to grips with the fact that he had a regular princess on his hands. Then he let go of her wrist and stood aside to give her access to the doorway.

What could she do, really, but glare? Bethany was so mad she was shaking, but what was she going to do about it? He was holding a shotgun. She didn’t think he was about to use it on her, but he probably wasn’t entirely stable…

He grabbed her wrist and she stared at it. “No one wants your money anymore.” It was true. There was no one around to want her money. Everything she had worked for her whole life was useless. It would be more useful burning in a pile on the ground. At least then it would cook food or keep her warm.

He let her go and Bethany stepped past. She didn’t look at him, just headed towards the door. But something made her stop. She whirled and brought her hand up swiftly, smacking him rather hard across the face. She was seething. “I’ll do fine on my own. Just try not to carry me off the next time you see me. I know I’m pretty and all, but it’s barbaric. The rest of the world is falling into Hell, I’d rather stay out of it.”