[ WP ] You are in a Ghost Town , the world just ended and you have n't seen another human life for a month

I dismounted Bucephala and looked around. The wind blew dust through the clapboard building-lined streets. Sage rustled as the sunset burned the town orange. 
 
 “ Stop right there! ” 
 
 I whirled toward the voice and saw a man in a broad-brimmed hat standing at the other end of the main street, his hand on the pistol at his hip. 
 
 We stood there, the sunset casting a long shadow off the general store. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again several times, trying to determine whether he was real or a hallucination. My heart was hammering in my chest. 
 
 “ The whole world ’ s full of dead cities, littered with corpses, ” I said, “ I didn ’ t expect to find a living soul in a ghost town. ” 
 
 My rifle was strapped to the other side of Bucephala ’ s saddle, out of easy reach. 
 
 “ Have you been infected? ” He asked, “ Did you show symptoms? ” 
 
 He was no ghostly gunslinger—the clarity of increasing calm brought out little features I hadn ’ t noticed before. His hat was a Smokey, not a 10-gallon. The pistol on his hip was a semi-aut, not a six gun. 
 
 “ I ’ m standing here, aren ’ t I? ” I said. 
 
 “ There are some who survived the infection. Not many, but…there are. Not looking to catch the apocalypse sniffles off a carrier. ” 
 
 “ Not me, ” I said, “ I was in the backcountry. ” 
 
 “ And what do you want here? ” He asked. 
 
 “ A place to stay the night and some water would be all I need. Anything more than that would be up to your discretion. ” 
 
 He relaxed off of his firearm. “ Sounds like we ’ re in the same boat, ” He said. “ Come on back to my place. ” 
 
 He approached, still a little wary, and extended a hand for me to shake. “ My name ’ s Roger. ” 
 
 “ Emily, ” I said. 
 
 He was older than he looked from a distance, a face more lined and hair more white than his posture and gait would have suggested. 
 
 We walked to the rangers ’ residence, and I brought out a bucket of water for Bucephala before joining him inside and downing several glasses myself. 
 
 “ Where you coming from, Emily? ” he asked, sitting down at the dining table with a cup of coffee. 
 
 “ Hawthorne, most recently, ” I said, joining him. 
 
 He nodded. “ How is it? ” 
 
 “ Bad…very bad. ” 
 
 “ No one there? ” 
 
 “ No one living. ” 
 
 “ Where you going to? ” 
 
 “ My family are in San Francisco. ” 
 
 His eyebrows rose. 
 
 “ I…hope. ” 
 
 He sighed and leaned back. “ This place is a bit out of your way, isn ’ t it? ” 
 
 I shrugged. “ I wanted to come here…my mom brought me here when I was little. ” 
 
 “ What ’ d you think of it? ” 
 
 I considered for a while. “ Creepy. A monument to failure. ” 
 
 “ Is it? ” The way he asked the question, it seemed almost as much for his benefit as mine. 
 
 “ I didn ’ t like the graveyard, or the church. It felt like…we were gawking at the remnants of lives that people decided just weren ’ t worth holding on to. What do you think the last family or last person thought, walking away from this town? All those grave markers put up by people who wanted their loved ones remembered…that steeple abandoned by its congregation… ” 
 
 He took a sip of his coffee, then said, “ Don ’ t go to the City. ” 
 
 I glanced at him sharply. “ Why not? ” 
 
 “ There was a ham radio operator down in San Jose. He said it was utter hell. ” 
 
 “ Was? ” I asked, “ What happened to him? ” 
 
 Roger sighed. “ Waterborne illness, I think. Not the one that killed the planet—that one he came through alright. Just…some nasty germ you get building up when you ’ re surrounded by millions of corpses. ” 
 
 I bit my lip. I knew he was right, and somehow, it didn ’ t hurt as much as I thought it should. Maybe because I ’ d done all my crying already. 
 
 “ What do you think I should do instead? ” 
 
 He shrugged. “ The North Central Valley, up above Sacramento. Good farmland, wide open spaces without too many people. You could live there, if you like. Scavenge at first, grow your own food, at some point. ” 
 
 I nodded. “ I might just do that. Wouldn ’ t mind company. ” 
 
 He looked me in the eyes and smiled. “ Well, Emily…that ’ s a very nice offer. But I think this is where I get off. I ’ ve got enough insulin for three weeks, and enough food for more than twice that, so take some when you go. ” 
 
 I stared at him in shock. “ Roger…we can get you more insulin! There are pharmacies— ” 
 
 “ None of which have power. No power, no refrigeration. ” 
 
 He leaned back in his chair. “ I looked after this place every summer for ten years. Told people all the stories about the town. I know a hell of a lot about those tombstones up there, and the names attached to them. They ’ re like old friends. 
 
 “ My daughter lived in Stockton. Her and her husband and two boys. My son lived in Reno. ” 
 
 He took another sip of his tea. “ All those corpses out there are just…reminders of what ’ s lost. No, Emily…Bodie ’ s the only town that holds no ghosts, for me. ” 
 

