10 months later…

The air was buzzing with activity. You could see it in the people as they walked the streets, talking amongst themselves. There was a good reason for it. The new President of the United States was set to make his first speech today since the start of the entire plague.

Michael would watch it in time, but for now he had other worries. The baby was crying again, and he was calling for everyone to meet in the living room where he was currently trying to feed the fussy infant.

"We're coming!" He heard a muffled voice answer from another part of the apartment. It made him smile, and when he looked down at the baby, he smiled even wider. When he looked into that happy, care free face, he knew it would all be okay.

His family and the two other people they shared this apartment with walked in and took their places on the couches and chairs. Room was scarce and the accommodations a little cramped, but they didn't mind. They extended a hand out to anyone who needed it.

"How is he?" Karen asked. He handed the baby off to her.

"He's adorable, that's how he is." His mother jumped in from the other end of the sofa, adoring the child as only a new grandmother would. Michael knew his mother would spoil his son, and he didn't mind one bit. He would give the boy everything he could to make him have a normal life.

"It's starting." He heard his her say, and he turned to the TV. It didn't really matter what channel you were on, the speech was being broadcasted to as many as possible.

On the screen, the Presidential podium was visible as it always was before everything happened. In the background, the seal hung over a blue curtain. Whoever had set this up had gone through the trouble of making sure it was as professional looking as possible for the speech.

Michael could appreciate that, but, as the small audience on screen rose to greet the man in charge, he suddenly found himself uneasy over watching. Surely the President would talk about progress, about rebuilding. He would talk about all the trouble they've gone through and the sacrifices they've made for each other, and he would recall stories he had heard that would inspire a nation to rise up again and restore their past glory. But Michael didn't want to hear any of that. No, not yet.

He got up from his chair, and excused himself.

"Michael?" He heard his wife call after him, and then heard her footsteps following. "Michael, are you okay?" She stood in front of him in the narrow hallway so he couldn't walk any further. She must have given Rachael the baby.

"Yeah," taking her hand, "could you walk with me?"

"Sure," so they began walking, "but why are you leaving?" He avoided looking at her, suddenly feeling bad.

"I just don't want to listen."

"Why?"

They left the apartment and walked through the building, eventually coming to a waiting area near the elevators. It was a wide, glassed in portion that offered a great view of the city and of the setting sun. There, he took her in his arms.

"What's wrong?" She kept asking. He let her go and pulled back, looking into her eyes. He could get lost in those eyes.

"I'm just tired." He finally responded. Her brows furrowed.

"Then you should go to sleep." Michael sighed and turned to look out over the city. She stood by him, wrapping an arm around his waist. The glass sparkled in the light, bending it. It was all so nice. It would have been hard to believe something like this could have survived. Out in the distance, on the top of a rise, he watched a tall oak sway in the breeze.

"I'm not that kind of tired." They stood in silence for what seemed like forever, and he didn't mind it.

He knew the President would talk about all of those things because they were all true. At some point, they were going to have to rebuild, and it was true, everyone had made sacrifices for each other. They had to, or many wouldn't be here right now. But he didn't want to listen, not because he wasn't a fan of the President, but because even now, months after the fact, it was all still difficult to think about.

"You know it wasn't your fault." He nodded in response, not needing to say anything.

They turned so they were looking at each other once more, the warm sun casting shadows on their features. He thought she was so beautiful.

He hugged her and she hugged him, and they both stayed like that for a long time. He would hold her forever if he could.

It was only later, when his mother came looking for them that they parted.

"You have to listen to this." His mother had said. They had their moment, and now they were better. They followed her through the hallways back to the apartment.

When they were back in the living room, his mother pointed to the television.

"Look at this!" She was excited. On the TV, there was a reporter, the first they had seen in a long time, reading off the report.

"In the past few weeks, activity along our borders has slackened considerably. What used to be the hotspot of fighting between our forces and the virus are now deserted, the-" it showed a video feed of barbed wire fences, sandbags, and soldiers looking out over a plain. There was nothing in sight. "-It seems the victims of the virus have either moved on, or have perished through some unknown means. Researchers, meanwhile-"

"What does it mean?" His wife asked. They all stood in silence.

Somewhere, miles away, figures shambled through the shadows cast by the setting sun. There were hundreds of them, thousands. They flowed like water over obstacles. They went through homes, around and over hills, and across abandoned bridges. They all moved in one direction: south.

And among them, lost in the darkness, was a shape that moved less like the others, who stepped over creeks instead of through them, who stopped to rest at the end of each day, and as the sun finally inched its way off the horizon, stood by a tree overlooking a city, and wished.