Ghosts

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The last man on Earth knew that monsters were hunting him. It didn’t matter that he was already dead and condemned to hell; the beasts would never quit.

Lightning guided him and the dog through the ruins of the city. They moved through the darkness with calculated precision, his radiation suit snug around his lean muscles and scarred flesh. His Siberian husky, Miles, wore a similar suit to protect him.

The dog turned to check out a noise coming from a heap of rubble. A bottle rolled down the side, bounced, and shattered at the bottom. The wind whipped over the crest of the mound, picking up a tin can and whirling it away in the draft.

The man swept his assault rifle back and forth for contacts. He couldn’t see the creatures, but he could sense them out there.

Miles trotted on, uninterested.

The ground ahead was clear for now, but the path ahead was treacherous. Taking cautious strides over the debris field, the man melted into a passage through the crumbled ruins of a city block. Blackened metal bruised with rust littered his path. The jagged ends could rip his suit open with ease.

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