[This was the first draft of Dead World before I made into a 3rd-person limited told from Mikey’s point of view]

On the day the world ended, the sun was shining brightly, the birds were tweeting gaily, and I was in the middle of a lunch date on a sidewalk café with a man I had met on the Internet. His name was… Yes, was. As in no longer is. It’s a shame, really, because he seemed like a good guy. It wasn’t his fault that he was the fifth software engineer I’d gone on a date with that month. As he droned on about Perl and SQL and all of that stuff I couldn’t give a shit about, I was stuffing my face with a spinach quiche, waiting for my roommate Melanie to call me on a “fake emergency”.

It’s funny what one remembers when one is curled in a fetal position in a dark closet, praying fervently not to get discovered.

When I looked up, I saw his nose was bleeding. Not gushing. Just trickling. And the blood was about to drip down to his upper lip. Wow, awkward. How do I tell him? I picked up a paper napkin, reached across the table to give it to him, and froze. As I surveyed the faces around me, I noticed that each and every one of them had bleeding noses. And people were starting to freak out. A guy screamed something about the Arabs releasing a nerve gas. A woman started babbling hysterically about aliens. My date finally realized what was going on and stopped talking. We stared at each other in horrified silence.

“Is my—” he began.

“Yes.” I pointed to my own nose. “Mine?”

He shook his head and looked at me as though I was a freak. “No. No, it’s not.”

And then pandemonium broke loose. My date started seizing violently in his chair, his arms and legs flailing around, spraying blood and other chunky red stuff all over the place. The entire block looked like a scene out a break-dancing movie, only they weren’t break-dancing. I was too shocked to jump up and scream “eww”. As I was pulling out my cell phone out of my purse, the woman behind me fell out of her chair and landed on the ground, bleeding out of her eyes and ears. A server carrying a tray of coffee spazzed out, dropping the tray on the head of a customer, but the guy didn’t care ’cause he was too busy having a seizure himself. On the street in front of me, cars started smashing into each other, the drivers and their passengers flailing around wildly in their seats and spraying blood all over the windows and windshields.

I couldn’t scream. My vocal cords had frozen. I couldn’t even whimper. Was the man correct and a terrorist group had actually sprayed nerve gas on us? Across the table from me, my date had finally stopped thrashing around in his seat, falling face first on his plate of chocolate cake. As though my limbs themselves had become paralyzed, I couldn’t reach forward and take his wrist to check his pulse. I didn’t have to. I knew he was dead. The woman behind me was dead. The baby in the stroller she was feeding little bits of carrot cake to was dead. The man who’d complained about his coffee being too hot was dead. My roommate Melanie whom I had left at home watching soap operas to meet my date was probably dead. The people in their cars, the people walking their dogs, the grandmother going for a stroll in her walker, they were all dead.

All of a sudden, it was deathly—pardon the pun—quiet. I couldn’t even hear the sirens of police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances coming to rescue us. There were no birds tweeting, no dogs barking, no cell phones ringing. A gust of wind hit me, blowing through my hair, and bringing the metallic smell of blood and other unpleasant bodily fluids. I picked up a paper napkin unsullied by other people’s blood and with a shaking hand, dabbed underneath my nose. Taking a deep breath, I glanced down at it. No blood. I wiped at my eyes and ears. No blood. For some reason, I was spared from whatever the hell had killed every single person as far as my eyes could see.

An odd calmness settled over my body—or my mind took off for a vacation, who the hell knew—and I couldn’t muster enough passion to be afraid. Coolly, I plucked my cell phone out of my purse and dialed my mother’s number. I was not surprised when it was answered by a sing-song beeping followed by a pleasantly mechanical voice telling me, “We’re sorry. All circuits are busy now. Please hang up and try your call again.” I punched a button to disconnect the call and slipped the phone back into my purse.

I got up from my chair. I had to go home and shower. I couldn’t think with my hair and clothes drenched with blood and other fluids thicker than blood. Out of habit, I tossed a couple of bills on the table, then carefully maneuvered past the dead bodies that littered my immediate vicinity, stepping over the ones on the ground. It was a good thing I only lived a block away from the café.

On my way there, I encountered more dead people lying motionlessly on the street, blood dripping out of various orifices. Whatever this thing was, it had no mercy. It killed children, old people, business women, the ice cream man, dogs, birds, black people, white people, and yellow people. I hugged my denim jacket tighter around my body and made my way up to the second floor unit I shared with Mel. As I inserted my key into the lock, I inhaled deeply, hoping I didn’t find my roommate and best friend slumped dead on her chips and salsa, her cold dead fingers wrapped around the TV remote.

What I found was Mel sitting on the old couch my mother had given us, staring at the TV, her normally golden-tan face devoid of color. I felt as though all the wind had been knocked out me and momentarily collapsed against the door. There were tracks of drying tears on her cheeks and a small dribble of snot hanging out of her aquiline nose. I released the breath I had been holding and rushed to her side, sitting on the couch next to her. On the TV, the perpetually cheerful blonde newscaster sat lifelessly on her anchor chair, blood flowing freely out of her eyes and nose. Her co-anchor, a handsome black man who also served as the meteorologist, was also dead.

“Melanie,” I whispered, giving her shoulder a shake. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know,” she murmured in an oddly melodious voice. It was a little higher in pitch than her normal speaking voice and carried a hint of madness.

“Everybody’s dead,” I continued to whisper. I stopped when I realized what I was doing. Why was I whispering? Even if I were too loud, there was no one left to yell at me. Laughter bubbled up my throat, but I quickly put my hand over my mouth to stop it. I was not supposed to be laughing.

“Everybody’s dead,” Melanie repeated in that creepy little girl voice. Her hands rose in the air to bury themselves in the thick blond mane on top of her head and she began to rock back and forth on the couch. “Everybody’s dead! There is no one left. EVERYBODY’S DEAD!”

She began shrieking, scratching her face with her exquisitely manicured nails, drawing blood and leaving ugly red welts on her skin. She rocked faster and faster on the couch, alternately blubbering nonsensical words that weren’t really words and whimpering like a kicked dog.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” She was laughing and crying at the same time, shoving her hands into her hair and yanking off chunks of it.

I grabbed her hands and yanked them away from her face, holding them down at her side so she couldn’t hurt herself anymore. In retaliation, she screamed in my face, almost blowing out my ear drums. I drew back one of my hands and slapped her as hard as I could. It was how men dealt with hysterical females in those old movies, but I never thought I would ever do it myself in real life, but real life had stopped making sense to me the moment the world turned to shit. I looked down at my hand. When I glanced up at Melanie, she was rubbing her cheek with a hurt expression on her face, but at least she didn’t look crazy anymore.

“Shit, Aiko, you didn’t have to hit me that hard.” She opened and closed her mouth, flexing her jaw. “Fuck.” She rubbed her lower jaw, glaring at me. “What the hell happened to you? You’re all bloody and stuff.”

“My date exploded on me,” I said dryly. I removed my jacket and flung it on the floor. I dragged my hand through my stick-straight black hair and collapsed against the couch, bonelessly sinking into the cushions. “Have you seen anything on the news? Is it a terrorist attack? Did the world fucking end?”

Melanie wiped her face and nose on the hem of her shirt, seemingly back to her old self as she began to flip through the channels. “Hell if I know. When the newscasters started spazzing out and bleeding all over the place, I just lost it. I can’t remember anything else after that. Until you slapped me, that is.”

“Sorry.” I watched as Mel flipped past each channel and found more dead newscasters and Tide commercials that seemed so inane now. Idly, I wondered if I could get the blood stains off of my blouse if I soaked it in Tide and cold water. There wasn’t even an Emergency Broadcast to tell us what to do or where to go. “I tried calling my mother a few minutes ago, but didn’t get through. Let me try it again.” I dialed her number again and got the same recording about circuits being busy.

“This can’t be happening.” Melanie reached for the cordless phone on the coffee table in front of her and punched three numbers. 9-1-1. She listened to the line for a moment, despair crawling across her face. “Nothing. Where the hell are the cops, the firemen, or the goddamn National Guard? Where’s the CDC? Don’t you tell me they’re all dead too.” She flung the phone on the floor and buried her face in her hands.

“We can’t be the only ones left in the world.” Even to my ears, my voice sounded hollow and flat. Melanie must have heard it too because she looked at me with a purposeful look in her face and her hand went up in the air as though she intended to slap me. “I’m okay, I’m okay!” My family wasn’t dead, they couldn’t be… Japanese people are tough. We’re like cockroaches.

As if on cue, there was a frantic knocking on the door to our apartment, making me and Melanie jump in our seats. Our eyes met, hers widened in terror, and mine… well, I’m pretty sure mine were similarly wide and frightened.

She clutched my arms. “Oh my God, do you think it’s the police?”

“I don’t know.” The knocks had evolved into pounding and sounded even more frantic. “Maybe we should find out.” I yanked my arms out of Melanie’s hold, absently rubbing at the crescents her nails had left on my skin. “Who is it?” I called with only a slight quiver in my voice.

“It’s me, Mike! Are you girls all right?”

Huh. It is the police. I froze in my seat, unable to move for a moment. I could only watch in horror as the fright on Melanie’s face slowly dissolved, only to be replaced with freakish glee.

“Mike!” Melanie jumped up from the couch and ran to the door, shoving me out of the way. She flung open the door and threw her arms around the man standing on the other side of it, crying and laughing at the same time. “You’re alive! I can’t believe you’re alive! Oh my God!”

Michael Quinn and I dated throughout college. We were madly in love. At least he was. At most, I was extremely fond of him. On the day of our graduation, he proposed to me and I said no. I had been offered a job in Tokyo and couldn’t tie myself down. I came back after my contract was finished six months later and he and Melanie were dating. Four years later, they were still together and the awkwardness was mostly gone. Mostly.

Me, I was happy for Melanie. For a cop, Mike wasn’t a bad guy. And he was useful guy to know when it came to fixing tickets and things like that. And hell, surely a cop was handy to have around during the end of the world.

He looked grim… and purposeful. Mike was one of those people you just couldn’t faze. Once, while the three of us were out and about, a transit bus struck a woman right in front of us and Mike didn’t even blink. He just called 911 and calmly asked us if we were hungry. Mel, on the other hand, was utterly useless for the rest of the night and demanded to be taken home.

I watched with growing dismay as he ran his hands meticulously all over Mel’s body as though checking her for injuries. After he was finished with his cursory exam of her, he cupped her face between his large hands and pressed his forehead against hers. On the couch, I began to feel uncomfortable. I felt like clearing my throat loudly to remind them I was in the room. I folded my arms tightly across my chest and openly stared at them.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he whispered hoarsely, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. “I tried calling you, but couldn’t reach you through your phone. I was going crazy, wondering how the two of you were doing.” He glanced quickly at me, then went back to comforting Melanie who was currently in the process of losing her shit and drenching the front of his shirt with her tears.

I wondered at the tightness I was feeling in my chest as I continued to watch the two of them holding each other. God knew I had more important things to worry about than my best friend canoodling with my ex-boyfriend. For all I knew, the rest of the world, including my family and all of my friends, could be dead. Hell, the three of us could be slowly dying now as we breathed whatever poison lingered in the air and killed everybody else. I chalked up my feelings of jealousy to hysteria and attempted to shove it aside. It didn’t work. I wanted to be held too. I lifted my knees to my breasts and wrapped my arms around them.

Mike finally let go of Melanie and closed the door behind him, sliding the security chain into place and turning the deadbolt. Afterwards, he looked at me again and a frown of concern twisted his lips as he raked his green eyes over me. “You’ve got blood all over you, Aiko. Are you all right? Were you injured?”

He was all bloody too, but somehow, on him it looked sexy. It made him look… more rugged. His short blond hair was tousled as though he had just rolled out of bed, there was a day’s worth of beard on his cheeks, and a small cut on his chin. In a white t-shirt smeared with blood, faded blue jeans with a ragged hole on the knee, and a black leather jacket, he looked more like a street thug than a detective. I wanted to wrap myself around him like a crazed koala and never let go.

With Mike around, I was certain that Mel and I were going to be okay. He was a Boy Scout. He knew first-aid and all of that survivalist shit.

“It’s not my blood,” I murmured faintly. I grabbed the afghan draped over the back of the couch and slipped it over my shoulders, drawing it tightly around my body.

He studied me for a few moments, then nodded briefly and headed for the window, dragging Melanie who had attached herself his side, weeping silently. “I was just in the precinct. Everyone was dead too. I tried to contact the state police and the National Guard, but couldn’t get through. I even tried short wave radio.” He looked down grimly at the street and ran his hand through his hair. “I ran twenty blocks to get here and didn’t see one living soul. I was sure you guys were dead too.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to forget how long and lean his legs looked in his jeans. It’s just hysteria, Aiko. You’re only focusing on how hot he is ’cause your mind went bye-bye. I took a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. “What do you think happened, Mike? Do you think it’s biological? Some kind of germ warfare from the terrorists?”

“Possibly. If it’s a nerve gas of some sort, why weren’t we affected? I want to say we were protected because we were indoors, but that wouldn’t explain why the people at the precinct, even the prisoners in the jail, would be dead.” He glanced down at Melanie as though he only just realized she was standing next to him and turned around so he was facing her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he steered her toward an armchair and sat her down. “Honey, I’m going to have to let you go for a second, okay? I need to think.”

“Mike, I was outside when it happened—” I began to say.

Melanie whimpered and curled into the armchair. I glanced at her in annoyance. Since we’ve been friends for a long time, I’ve noticed that Mel, who was normally efficient and level-headed, usually fell apart and acted like a stereotypically weak female in the presence of men. It was… disgusting. Throw a man in front of her and she became Miss Wide Eyed Helpless Damsel. Almost immediately, I felt bad for having such uncharitable thoughts about my friend, but remained annoyed with her.

Mike headed for the bathroom and I found myself following after him. He stood before the sink, holding a washcloth under the faucet. He wrung out the excess water and placed the washcloth on his face before using it to rub off the blood from his skin. For a moment, I could only stare at his back, mesmerized by his sleek muscles and wide shoulders. He was so virile… so strong. He smelled so male… like Ivory soap and deodorant. My mouth watered and heat pooled between my thighs. Unable to help myself, I reached out and caressed his shoulder blade, feeling his strength flow through my palm.

“Mel, I—” He stopped when he was it was me standing behind him. He studied me intently for a few moments. Then he turned his back to me again, turned on the sink, and ran the washcloth under the water. “What do you want, Aiko?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned against the door and placed my hand on the doorknob. My mouth, my throat felt so dry. I swiped my tongue over my lips.

He wrung out the washcloth and faced me again. “Hold still.” He put one hand on my shoulder and began to meticulously clean my face and neck.

The cold water felt like a salve on my overheated skin. I could feel his breath on me. Under my blouse, my nipples pebbled under the thin fabric. I wanted to press myself against him and feel his mouth on me. I wanted him to thrust himself into me.

He dropped his hand to my waist. “Hold still, Aiko.”

He wasn’t as unaffected as I was. His pupils had become dilated and a bead of sweat had popped out on his forehead. His hand tightened on my waist.

“Touch me, Mike,” I whispered, pressing myself against his hand.

He was shaking his head even as his hand swept up to cup my breast. With a groan, he closed the door with his foot, lifted me up against the wall so that I was slightly higher than him, and pulled my head down to his, crushing my mouth with his. He tasted like coffee, gum… and something indescribably male. I buried my hands into his hair and moaned into his mouth, wrapping my legs around his slim hips.

He slipped his hand under my blouse and under my bra, cupping my breast in his palm, scraping my nipple with one callused thumb. I could feel his erection pressing against the material of his jeans… thick, hard, and heavy… pulsing against me. I wanted it. I wanted every single inch of it, sliding into me… punishing me. He dragged his mouth down to my neck, sucking my skin into his mouth, and biting lightly. His fingers began to fumble with his belt, his other hand pushing up skirt… then stopped.

I opened my eyes and raised my head. “What?”

He placed me back on the floor and stepped away from me, leaning against the sink. In our tiny bathroom, that meant only a foot and a half between us. He was breathing hard, his golden skin more than a little flushed. He dragged a hand through his short blond hair. “Jesus Christ.”

My mouth quirked into a frown. “What’s wrong?”

Bitter laughter erupted from his mouth. “It’s the end of the world and all you can think about is trying to fuck me? I’m your best friend’s boyfriend, for God’s sake! Don’t you have any shame?”

“I’m sorry, but was it not your mouth on my neck and your hand on my tit just a minute ago?” I propped my hands on my hips and glanced down purposely at his halfway unzipped pants. “I wasn’t alone in this.”

He briefly shut his eyes and shook his head. “You’ve always been a selfish bitch, Aiko, wanting what you can’t have. I’m probably the last man on earth and you can’t stand the thought that I belong to Melanie. That’s it, isn’t it?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Get real, Mike. I was the one who dumped you.” I gestured to the space between him and me. “That thing that happened… between you and me a few minutes ago… that was hysteria, delayed reaction or something.”

“Hysteria? That would require feeling or giving a shit about anyone but yourself. And you don’t, you sociopathic bitch.” His mouth curled into a smirk. “You’re cold, Aiko… you always have been.” He pushed off the sink. “I’m going to check on Mel.”

“Mike.” I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “You do care about me, don’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Of course I care about you, Aiko. I just don’t trust you… you may act like a lost little kitten outside, but inside… you’re a fucking iceberg.”

And then he left me standing in the bathroom all by myself. I whirled around and faced the mirror, touching my face, running my fingers over my swollen lips. People have always told me how beautiful I was, prettier than Melanie even. Blond-haired, blue-eyed girls were a dime a dozen in California. I was exotic, a black-haired, chocolate-eyed siren. I could get any man I wanted and that included Michael Fuckin’ Quinn. How dare that fucker reject me. I could play him easily, just like I did before. I could have him again if I wanted to. I wanted him kneeling in front of me, begging for my affections.

And what Aiko wanted, Aiko always got.

I walked out of the bathroom and found Mike on the couch with Mel on his lap. She was crying on his shoulder and he was stroking her hair like he was her daddy. She was blubbering and trying to say something, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying because she was crying so hard that she was hiccupping.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. I summoned an expression of concern to my face. At least I hope it looked like concern. I wasn’t cold, I wasn’t. But sometimes I did have a hard time identifying what I was supposed to feel for a specific situation and conveying the correct emotion.

“Maybe we should put her in her bed,” I found myself saying. “She’ll be more comfortable there. I have some Valium that may help her sleep.”

Mike looked suspiciously at me. “She’s fine here.”

“No, I’m totally useless to you guys right now,” Mel managed to say through her hiccups. “You two have always been the planners, the idea people. I’ll just get in your way. I think… I think I just need to lay down for a sec.”

“I’ll put her to bed.” I held out my hand to Mel and looked at Mike, daring him to say something. His mouth tightened, but he didn’t say a word. “Mike, why don’t you flip through the channels and see if you can find something.”

I guided Mel down the hallway to her bedroom and led her to the bed covered with a comforter decorated with pink and cream roses. I pushed the many pink ruffled pillows to the floor, lifted the comforter so she could get in, and pulled up the covers to her chest. I sat on the bed next to her and pulled out a bottle of Valium from my pocket. I shook out five tablets onto my palm and handed them to her. She gratefully accepted them and swallowed them with the help of the glass of water on her bedside table.

“You’re a good friend, Aiko,” she murmured sleepily, smiling at me.

“Hush, just close your eyes now.” I stroked her hair until her eyes drifted closed. I sat there in the dark, my hand on her chest, waiting until she began to breathe deeply and evenly. I reached for the pink and fluffy pillow next to her and placed it over her face.

She didn’t struggle much, didn’t make a lot of noise. And it was finished in minutes. I placed the pillow next to her and arranged her so it would look like she was just sleeping, then wrapped her fingers around the Valium bottle, allowing some tablets to spill onto the covers. I swept a lock of hair out of her face.

She looked peaceful. And weak.

I left the room, closing the door softly behind me, then went to the bathroom, flushing the toilet and washing my hands. Mike was still sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels when I walked into the living room. He looked up at me. “What took you so long?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I put your girlfriend to bed, then I used the john. Jesus, do I have to tell you everything now?”

His eyebrows knotted together, but he didn’t say a word.

I shrugged and walked to the window to see what was happening outside. Immediately below me was a woman lying on the ground dressed in a navy blue dress with her neck twisted in an unnatural angle. She was pregnant. I glanced past her and found body after body, both on the sidewalks and inside cars. Across the street, a little girl in a pink lacy dress and a tiara on her head sat unnaturally still, the front of her dress drenched in blood.

I turned my head to look at Mike. He was watching me now. I jerked my head towards the window.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood up and walked up to me, looking out the window over my shoulder.

“Shit,” he murmured.

I looked at the pregnant woman again and found myself watching her hand. The diamond of her wedding ring sparkled innocently in the sunlight. And then, right before my eyes, her fingers moved. I smacked Mike’s stomach with the back of my hand and pointed to the woman. Mike placed his hand on my shoulder and together, we watched as the pregnant woman with the broken neck slowly got up and raised her head towards our window.