Lucy Loud aimlessly wandered the Loud house, her eyes bleary and her mind faraway. She looked at photos in the living room. Smiling, happy faces. She picked one up off the mantle and examined it closer. It was Luan, Luna, Lana, and Lynn standing in front of the house. Numbly, she put it back.
In the kitchen, she sat at the table and stared blankly into the backyard. The sky was still gray, threatening rain. They could use it. The last rainy day she could remember was in May. In the meantime, it had been hot and dry. Dad said it was going to be a hot summer. Climate change and all.
Time passed in a blur. She drank a can of soda, then forced down a handful of chips. There weren't many left, and if she ate them all, the others would be mad. In her room, she sat on her bed and stared at the wall. The bust of Edwin watched her from the top of her dresser. She locked eyes with him. His gaze was cold, inscrutable. She didn't like it.
She looked away. Lynn's bed was empty. She was the first to go. She died at the hospital. Lilly too.
Lucy's heart twinged, and she looked away. She drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth. They were dead. All dead.
And she was alone.
An idea struck her then. She jumped up, dropped to her knees, and rummaged under her bed, finally bringing out her Ouiji board. She sat in up on her bed, but before she could get started, something like dread came over her: What if she really did contact the others? What if...?
The idea disturbed her. Sighing, she left the room and went downstairs. A walk. She needed a walk to clear her head.
Outside, the day was warm and breezy. No cars moved in the street. She followed the sidewalk in a random direction, letting her mind wander.
Captain Tripps is a funny name. That's what they called it out west, the news said. Captain Tripps. It was a band from the sixties or something. Why did they named a virus after a band? Why not "The Red Death" or simply "The Plague"? Why "Captain Tripps"? It was stupid. It didn't sound deadly at all. It didn't sound like something that spread around the world in a week and killed everyone it touched. It sounded like tie-dye and acid washed jeans.
Lucy found herself downtown. The streets were empty. At an intersection up ahead, a truck sat with its nose against the crumpled door of a car. A body hung out the window of the former. A big, black crow perched on the cadaver's back, watching her with beady eyes. A strange feeling came over her, and she stopped.
He lives in the wild things, she thought, and shook her head. What did that mean? What did anything mean anymore?
The crow cawed and flapped its wings.
Lucy walked past it, and until she turned down Union Avenue, she could feel it watching her.
She blanked out as she walked, and eventually found herself standing on the front step of a small, beige house with white trim. She knew the place, but couldn't immediately place it. Then it hit her: Clyde's house. She was at Clyde's house.
She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She knocked again and again and again. Nothing.
Finally, she gave up and left, walking down the middle of the street. The houses fronting the sidewalk were all dark and shuddered. She imagined the dead watching her through the windows, and shuddered.
She met only one other living person on her rambling walk through Royal Pines, an old man sitting against the front end of a Pinto and drinking from a bottle of clear liquid. His face was tan and weatherbeaten. His clothes were dirty and ragged. He saw her, smiled, and lifted the bottle. "Mornin', miss!" he cried.
Lucy glanced at him.
"It's the end of time! You thirsty?"
She walked on, and the sound of his cackling laughter followed her all the way home.
I'm late, she thought. The others would be mad.
She opened the door and went inside. It was dim and quiet. Of course it was. The others were all dead. She knew that. She knew that.
She flopped onto the couch and cried until she slept.
