• It was dark when the explosions finally stopped. The room was low roofed and the air was thick with dust, and she, she was hugging her knees in the corner. Her bare arms and calfs were still bleeding from where the barbed wire had scratched her, but she didn't feel the pain. She had long since grown numb to physical suffering.
    A life on the city streets could do that to you.
    She looked up slightly as she heard somebody enter the building above. Her large feline ears swivelled as she followed their course.
    They were making no attempt at stealth, and it even sounded as though they were sobbing slightly. They called out a name softly.
    It was a woman's voice. Another survivor?
    "Jack? Are you in there?"
    She perked her ears up and lifted her head. There was no danger here.
    "...In here," she called out hesitantly, cursing silently when her voice broke. Damn dust.
    The door cracked open, sending light spilling into the cellar. A woman entered slowly. The tears were still shining on her face. She seemed to step back slightly when she saw the girl's ears; large, white, pointed cat-like ears, perched on top of her head above a pair of vivid yellow eyes.
    The woman recovered immediately from the shock and moved quickly to the girl's side. She hugged her awkwardly.
    "You're an escapee, aren't you?" she asked. The girl nodded.
    "We're the only survivors," she replied.
    "How can you be certain?"
    She shrugged. "Don't ask me how I know; I just do."
    They sat together for a while, the girl wrapped in the stranger's arms, before the woman spoke again to break the spell of silence.
    "What's you're name?" she asked.
    "Gale."
    "I'm Elizabeth... Lizzie."
    "I know," said the girl, eyes locked on the door. "Elizabeth Ann Swansfoot."
    The woman stiffened.
    "How did you know...?"
    Gale pointed to the empty doorway. "He told me."
    A shadow in the dust momentarily flickered and died. Lizzie stared, trying to make sense of what the girl had said.
    "His name was Jack," continued Gale. "He said his body is in the square, that by the time he woke up it was too late."
    The woman choked back a sob. Old Jack had been a kindly old man, if slightly eccentric and half deaf. He used to hand out food to the refugees from the cellar of his humble little tavern. After her father had been killed, Old Jack had become like her uncle.
    Gale stood up, shrugging off Lizzie's embrace.
    "We'd better get going, before the Dead begin to Rise again," she said.
    Elizabeth watched her, puzzled.
    "The Dead...?"
    The girl looked back over her shoulder, a finger to her lips.
    "Shh," she said. "They'll hear you Call them."
    Then she strode out into the light above.