I was pretty sure I wasn’t the last person on earth, it just felt that way. Sitting on the ledge of the cathedral’s bell tower, like a modern day Quasimodo six stories above the street. I pushed the hair out of my eyes and draped my arm across the ugliest of the gargoyles. Scanning the city I looked for movement, inspecting everything, each street, building, and back alley for signs of life. Smoke, moving cars, recent construction, anything. But the city looked deader than the bodies in the church below.
Everything my father had said on his death bed about avoiding people, keeping hidden, all of it, I totally blew it off and walked out of the mountains on my eighteenth birthday.
Disregarding his guidance had been tough. Hell, the man practically walked on water in my opinion. But I couldn’t stay up there all alone, living like a hermit. Not anymore. Something inside was pushing me, an unknown force, driving me to stretch the limits, to break some rules. Ignore what was smart and do what felt good instead. To hell with the consequences. But then the end of the world will do that to a guy.