"Hello?" He called out into the putrid streets as he fumbled about clumsily. He hadn't heard another's voice for months: Not since the outbreak.
"Hello?" He cried again, louder. "Is anybody out there? Hello?"
He nearly falls to his knees as he steps over another black trash bag and begins to laugh hysterically. "Anyone out there?" He laughs. "Whoo-hoo-hoo! There's nobody here!" He begins to cheer and dance around as though he's gone mad (which he probably was).
His mad joy was short lived, though, as he stumbled over another trash bag, startling a flock of crows who squawked in irritancy at the disruption of their meal and breaking one of his ankles. He screamed out in pain and surprise.
"ARAUGH! Jesus—fuckin' son of a bitch…Shit, ah…," he groaned as he tried to set it back into place. He started looking around the streets, the hot July air made waves in the background and made him hallucinate. "Please!" He called out. "Somebody! Anybody! Help! I need help!"
There was no reply as he laid his forehead on the scorching pavement and waited for the assistance that wouldn't come; he had been traveling for days and had run out of water three days ago. His food supply was gone a day before the water.
The young man began to cry. He began to cry for his separated friends and the emptiness and need for companionship. "Mattie…" he sobbed into the asphalt, "I'm sorry, Mattie…I should've stayed with ya, man…I should've stayed…I should've stayed I should've stayed."
His blue eyes began to close as he blacked out and waited for his end.
Strangely enough, he didn't see a couple of petite girls come up to him, mutter something to each other, and look at him before he went under.