Hollow Moon (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Three

Getting back on the footpath, in the opposite direction of where the car went, I head for the end of the street. A tall apartment building cut the sky in front of me in strange orange brick tones. The closer I came to the intersection, I saw the green and white printed road signs that indicated the major places if you decided to go in either direction.

Hospital and university on the right.

The next suburb, Manta, and the harbour on the left.

I wanted to get to the harbour first, so I make the decision to head in that direction. The street would have been picturesque. Manicured trees lining the street on either side of the road. Small glass windowed shops in neat rows behind them and the paved walkway, with an artistic mix of stone and concrete.

But in the few weeks that all hell broke loose, it was identical to the ruin that I've been walking through since I woke up to this. Broken glass, spray-paint profanities on any smooth surface I could see. Car bodies strewn about like a kid was playing with lego plonked them every which way. There was even a turned over ice-cream truck that was raided of the long gone (and long melted) contents.

It also became more apparent the further down the street that the tribes had declared their territories with graffiti that became a frequent symbols that would stick out on lamp posts and walls. Some were even a mess of drawing over the top of one another. It was something new but predictable to be frank.

At least if I stick around long enough I might be able to map out their designated areas and which ones were which so that I could predict their movements and stay the hell away from them. The dominant sign seemed to be a crude skull with three eye sockets and two protruding fangs. All done in white spray-paint. The guy sitting on that police car a few minutes ago came to mind.

I shake my head to dislodge the thought, I had better things to be focusing on than speculating. Like keeping my focus on my eyes and ears on the surroundings to make sure I don't get jumped. Again.

As I make my way through the streets, one thing became abundantly clear; the streets were not as abandoned as I had hoped.

In fact, it seemed that there were more and more of these 'patrolling' vehicles and groups the closer I'm getting to the seaside. At first, I try to take to the backstreets but the alleys and tunnels only lead to turnarounds, dead-ends and padlocked gates, grates and doors.

My options have been severely limited and it was becoming more uncomfortable the deeper I went. I have had to hide in storm drains and service streets four times in the last ten minutes and it was becoming clear that my movements are being slowed down far more than I desired. A small group was making their way towards me as I had ducked into an already raided gas stop.

Hiding between the wrecked isles of spilled contents and overhauled crates and turned over shelves, I watch them walk down the street like the own the place. Their group probably did. Frowning, I slowly walk as to keep myself in their blind spot as I investigate my surroundings a bit closer. The register was pulled from the wall and thrown out the window, leaving behind a gaping hole in the service desk. Again, no food was in here either.

But there was some old newspapers that all read the same thing 'The End is Nigh', 'Pandemic Collapses the Human Race' etc. I abandon them quickly, ducking down behind a shelf as I see a shadow enter the building. The clicking of broken glass lets me keep a guestimate as to where it was heading. The way it squeaks underfoot meant that they were wearing shoes, eliminating my hope that it was just a cat.

Biting my lip, I speed crouch down the end and peek down the aisle in front of me that I think they're in. Sure enough, two of them were swaggering about, crude weapons in hand. I look between them and the broken glass. I couldn't make my escape with it all over the place and them within hearing. I'm barely managing not to step on it as it is.