Dust
So this was what the end of the world looked like.
Drusilla watched as the people ran, trying to find a safe place, fear written on their faces like sonnets to death. She could feel the anger coming from the sick ones, like electricity in the air. Like a song only she could hear. It wasn't pretty though, not this song. This song was blood and screaming. Minds that cried out as they crumbled to dust within the still-living carcasses of their former selves. The Infected weren't really dead, of course. Their hearts still beat and their lungs still had breath. But they were shadows, remnants of those they used to be, their minds decayed.
Drusilla loved this all. All the chaos, the screams... this was so delightful. Like heaven, maybe. But of course it couldn't be heaven. An unholy creature like Drusilla could never feel happy in heaven. Perhaps this was hell, come to earth at last. It didn't matter what it was though. Just that it was happening.
One of the creatures—it couldn't be called a person anymore—rushed over when it saw her, but then seemed to get confused. Its anger dissipated and it looked upon her like it was lost. Like it couldn't understand what she was. Then it drew back, seemingly sensing what she was. It knew she was stronger than it was. It knew, on some level, that she was the predator, and it had gone back to being the prey. Drusilla ignored it, though. Runners, as some called them now, were not her idea of good food. Their blood tasted of the fungus, the sickness that made them what they were. If she didn't see any people for a while, they weren't too bad. Better than most animals, at least. But there was no mistaking that there was something wrong with them.
The Runner who had been looking at her suddenly ran off, having spotted a person. A real one this time, with a brain. Drusilla ignored them both. She had fed recently enough, she didn't need to concern herself with them. She didn't quite know where she was, and it was rather vexing. How had she got here? She could remember walking through streets, but now she was inside. Had she walked here in a dream? It made sense. She seemed to live in dreams most of the time. It helped her to have someone around with her. Spike and Darla had both helped her... But they had left her. She had no one now. She was alone, had been alone for a while. It scared her to be alone. For most of her life, she had had someone with her. Spike had stayed with her for over a century. But he was gone now, gone to that Slayer of his. She didn't even know if he was still alive.
She looked around to see where she was. It was a room full of shelves, the shelves full of books: a library. This place must have been abandoned only three years, but it looked like longer. A window had been left open, and rain had poured in through it, allowing everything in its path to become water-stained. She felt like if she picked up one of the books it would crumble to dust. There was ivy growing through the window. There was something about that ivy... but Drusilla didn't know what it was. It bothered her. She knew it was important, that it meant something. But she couldn't understand it. There were many things she couldn't understand.
She reached for one of the books on the shelves and opened it. The pages were brown and decayed, but the print was still there.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies...
She knew that from somewhere. She thought Spike might have read it to her long ago. He had done that sometimes, to help her sleep. Especially when she had been weakened after Prague. He would sit at her bedside and read to her from books of poetry. She had enjoyed that, hearing his voice, having all his attention on her. But that would never happen again, would it? She was here alone. Always alone now. Where had they all gone? Angel, Spike, Darla... She remembered when they had all been together. That had been so much better than now. And if she tried, she could even vaguely remember being human, with her family. Her old family. She didn't remember them well. They were almost a phantom memory, like something she had once seen or heard about rather than lived. She thought she'd felt safe with them, like she had with Spike. Although she had loved Angelus and Darla, her family, she had never felt safe or comforted with them. And she didn't when she was alone.
"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!"
She whirled around, startled by the voice when she had been alone before. A man stood in the doorway. A soldier, holding a rifle, which was aimed at her. Drusilla laughed.
"What are you laughing at? You're supposed to be in the quarantine zone, what are you doing here?" the soldier asked.
"I can go where I please," Drusilla said, striding towards him, letting the book of poetry fall from her hands.
"Stay back!" the soldier cried. He pulled the trigger.
Drusilla stopped in her tracks. She felt a piercing pain, like her heart had broken. She touched her hand to her chest and felt the wetness of blood staining the fabric of her dress. She tutted at the soldier. "Silly boy. That wasn't very nice. It hurt me."
The soldier was afraid now, she could tell. It wasn't normal to get shot in the heart and survive. But Drusilla wasn't normal. This man might know a lot about killing humans and infected, but she was sure that he knew very little about vampires.
"What the fuck?" he said. "How are you not dead?"
"I am dead," she told him. "Have been for all of this age. Have been for so long..." She walked closer. He didn't move this time, paralysed by his fear. Drusilla reached for him, caressed his face... and then stabbed her fingernails through his neck, making warm blood spurt out, soaking her hand. She clamped her mouth onto his throat, sucking down the blood ravenously. It hadn't been very long since she had fed, but she needed to kill this one, as he wanted to kill her. And if she was killing him anyway, why waste the blood?
She let his lifeless body fall to the ground. She would have to leave now. The smell of the rotting flesh would draw infected here. Shame. She quite liked this place. She looked around for the book of poetry which she had dropped. It was speckled with the soldier's blood. As she picked it up, her bloodied hand spread more across its cover. She didn't dare open it now, not wanting to stain the pages. She would keep it with her, she decided. She had little enough things, and this slim volume would hardly weigh her down. She put it into her bag and walked out, stepping over the soldier's body.
She needed to find a new place to sun would be up in about three hours or so. She needed to find shelter by then or she would be nothing but dust floating in the sunlight like spores. Like all her memories, everything that used to be. She would be no more than a memory. Or would she even be a memory at all? Would anyone remember her? She couldn't know for sure. Spike might. But he had forgotten all about her, hadn't he? All for that Slayer. Drusilla must mean nothing to him now.
She walked outside. There was frost on the ground. This wasn't a cold place, even this time of year, a week past the winter solstice. But this years winter had been especially cold. Drusilla didn't care. The dead didn't feel the cold. She strode through the streets, humming to herself. This place was once a bustling city, full to bursting with all the people. Now it was dead. The lights all out, the doors all barred, bodies lying to rot in the streets. But that was wrong. It wasn't the city that was dead. The city was living again. There was grass growing through the concrete, trees bursting through buildings, animals roaming the streets. She heard them all. The infected hadn't ended the world. All it had ruined was the people within it. All else lived on.
She came to a stop outside an old church. Drusilla hated churches. She had died in one, in another girl's life. They had meant something else to her once, something besides blood and death and pain, but she didn't remember what it was anymore. Not exactly. But she remembere, that before she had died, they had meant something good. A sanctuary, was it? Perhaps this one could be aa sanctuary to her now.
She took a step inside, feeling uncomfortable already. Crosses surrounded her on all sides, like enemy soldiers holding her in. This was not a good place for a vampire to be. But it was the best place for her now. She needed shelter, and this was all she could find. Intact roofs were already hard to come by. And as bad as this place made her feel, it would be nothing compared to the deadly sunlight.
There were people here, and not sick ones, not infected. Real people. She smiled, and walked closer to them. They were two men, brothers perhaps, dressed in scruffy clothes and holding rifles, which they raised at her as they saw her approach. There were more guns with them. Her smile faded. She really hoped she wouldn't get shot again. Getting shot was quite unpleasant.
"What do you want?" one of the men demanded. "We don't have any food," he said. It was a lie, but lying was the least of the dark things people would do to stay alive now.
"Just shoot her Tommy," the other man said. "She's probably just gonna steal from us, or kill us. That's what most people do now. And what if she has food? We need to eat." The man was ignoring Drusila, speaking only to the other man, Tommy. He whispered, clearly thinking she couldn't hear him. Of course, he was wrong; Drusiila could hear every word as if he were beside her.
"Joel, I'm not going to shoot her. Look at her, how skinny she is. She's starving. She has no weapons and looks like she hasn't slept in days."
Drusilla cocked her head. That one seemed so sure about what he was saying. Perhaps these darkened times hadn't quite destroyed his hope yet. But the other, Joel... there was no hope left in him. Only despair. She could feel the pain radiating from him. He hurt so badly. She wanted to take his pain away, but she knew it wasn't the right time yet. Without him, humanity might actually stand a chance, and Drusilla couldn't have that.
"Who's Sarah?" Drusilla asked him, taking a name from his thoughts. A name that screamed itself to her.
As soon as she spoke the name, he seemed to snap. His face became a mask of anger as he stood, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a human mockery of a snarl. "Who the fuck are you? Where'd you hear about Sarah?" He was aiming his gun at her again. Drusilla walked closer, and took the gun from his hand, then threw it to the ground away from them.
"The stars told me," she said. "They told me such awful things about you. They say you'll spoil the last chance the humans have. Let the world end. Let the fungus spread all over, making everything such beautiful chaos."
"The world's already over. Ain't nothing I can do to it now," Joel said, looking warily at her. He had no gun, but he was strong—he could use his fists if he had to. Or that was what he thought, but Drusilla knew something he didn't. She was stronger than him, strong enough to snap his neck without effort.
"Not now, no. But one day. You'll let them all go, so you can help her. So beautiful... I don't know this one's name. Do you know it yet?"
"Know what?"
"Her name. The red-haired girl's name. Red-brown like autumn, green eyes like spring. Heart made colder by winter. You know her, or you will. It can be hard to keep track. Do you know her name?"
Joel's face spoke of confusion. No recognition was sparked by her description, though she was sure it was right. Future still, then. He hadn't met the girl yet.
"I don't know no redhead girl," he said. "I suggest you get the hell out of here, or I am gonna shoot you." And he was holding another gun, a pistol. Drusilla hadn't noticed that one before, but she could see it now, pointed right at her.
Drusilla didn't pay much attention to him. She knew that he might shoot her—but if she had been like anyone else, he probably would have done it already. He knew, even without really knowing, that she wasn't. If he'd heard she was a vampire he wouldn't believe her, but even he could tell something wasn't right. That was one of the things Drusilla really didn't like about the outbreak: prey was getting smarter. Some of them at least. If they could avoid infected, they could avoid vampires. And that made it ever harder to eat, in a world where the prey was already getting sparser. Drusilla thought it fun sometimes, trying to catch prey who knew better than to run. But when she got too hungry, it stopped being fun and just became a chore.
Drusilla heard something in the distance. A clicking sound, like a bat. What could that be? The humans didn't hear it yet. They still stood staring at Drusilla, wanting her gone, but afraid to face her. Drusilla tilted her head, listening to the sound. It was far, but coming closer. Like a hunter stalking prey. Like her.
Something walked into the building. Shambling and stumbling, listening close just like she was. It's head and face were completely overtaken by fungus, and it was spreading to other parts of its body. Its clothes were torn to pieces and it was covered in blood.
"What is that thing?" one of the men said. Drusilla wasn't listening closely enough to recognise their voice. But they were right, because she didn't know what this was either. It was infected, she knew that, but it looked far worse than any of the other infected Drusilla had seen. Perhaps it was just the first they had seen to have lived long enough to get that bad.
It was hardly even human anymore.
Drusilla walked towards it. It didn't look at her, not that it would do much good without eyes anyway. Infected weren't interested in vampires. Couldn't feed from them, couldn't infect them, so they were beneath their notice. Although some of them were becoming warier. It turned out the vampires didn't appreciate their prey being killed and infected and started hunting them down. Drusilla usually didn't bother. Not because she didn't care at all, but because usually, she felt too hurt to care. Too hungry, too stressed, too alone. She'd give anything to be with someone else; Darla, Spike, Angelus. Anyone she could call family. But Drusilla's family was all gone. But then, weren't most people's families gone now?
The strange-looking infected kept moving, making that awful clicking. It sounded like singing to Drusilla. Should she let it hear the humans? See what it could do to them? No. She wanted to see them hurt, it would be wonderful. But if she left them alone, then the humans might stand a chance. Letting that one live could mean the end, or so she could hope. Hope was all anyone had now.
As the infected moved past her, Drusilla grabbed it, her sharpened nails piercing its skin as her face changed. It struggled against her grip, almost as strong as she was. Had she been younger, it might have been stronger. As it was, she was barely able to restrain it. It was confused—it was always confused, not knowing anything other than feeding and attacking people. It didn't know what to do to defend itself against something even stronger than it was.
Drusilla tore off its head. It ached her muscles, trying to tear apart the fungus, and the flesh and blood and bone. But it was possible. She smiled as blood splattered across her face. She turned to see the humans looking at her in horror.
"What was that? How did you do that?" Tommy said. Drusilla cocked her head at him. Maybe she should kill him after all. But no. Her mind was made up. Killing either of these people, especially the one called Joel, would change things too much in ways she wouldn't like at all. So she would leave them. She would hide underneath the church until night fell again, and then she would be gone, trying to find more prey that infected hadn't already got to.
The same thing every night. Travel as far as she could, feed, rest until nightfall. Breaking that cycle was impossible. She'd had great days before in her life, or at least ones were nothing too truly horrible happened to her. But nothing good would happen now, not to anyone.
She walked outside, letting them think she was already gone. There was a door to the cellar outside, and Drusilla crept inside, staying silent. This would be her hideout for the day while she slept. She didn't think she'd be found. If she was, she was perfectly capable of killing whoever found her. Her only worry was the sun, already starting to rise. She let her hand fall into a glowing patch of sunlight across the floor. Her pale fingers caught the light, then caught alight, burning and blistering, skin turned red and puckered. The damage could be done so quickly. She pulled her hand back, putting the fire out on the ground. Even she couldn't heal as quick as she could be hurt.
She wondered if it was really worth trying. To survive. If she just let herself stay in the sun, didn't find a place to sleep, she would be nothing but dust. And what then? Where would she be? Would she cease to be, would she find peace? Or something worse? She wondered.