Hollywood was dark. That was the first thing Elle noticed when she stood on the ridgeline, just behind the Hollywood sign. She had never seen it like this before. The city had always been brimming with life, with activity. Even after Day Zero, when the lights went out, there were fires and riots. Noise.

Now there was nothing.

Elle pulled her jacket tighter, trying to stop herself from shuddering. If the stories were true… if Uncle was right… then there would be nothing left for Elle here. The silence was telling — no noise meant no people.

Of course, she couldn’t be entirely sure.

There might be people somewhere.

She started climbing down the ridgeline, onto the dirt trail. The hill was dry. Dead grass snapped under her shoes. She had never felt so alone or cold in her life.

Later, as she hit the streets of Hollywood, the utter silence overwhelmed her. It was thick, like a curtain. The darkness, the quietness. The deadness. She knew she had made a mistake coming back here. She needed to go back to the ranch, back to Aunt and Uncle. They would understand why she left, and they would welcome her home.

She didn’t get the chance.

A man came around the corner, thickset and heavily tattooed.

Elle stared at him.

She shouldn’t have come back.

West Hollywood, California

Elle sat cross-legged on the edge of the roof, watching the empty street. She’d been up here for a while. This was the first time in a week it had stopped raining long enough to sit outside.

She brushed her black hair out of her blue eyes. The bank across the street was quiet. So was the bus stop, the pizza restaurant next door and the clothing shop catty corner to the streetlights. Elle swung her legs over the top of the roof, climbing back down to the street. She rounded the front of the building and peeked through the broken windows. The menu above the counter said Millions of Milkshakes in bright letters. It had been a prominent place, once. A milkshake bar known for hosting celebrities and athletes in the heart of the most famous city on earth.

Everything had changed since the electromagnetic pulse.

Planes had fallen from the sky and technology had failed, leaving Hollywood and all of its glamour in the dark. The power was out for good. The world was a different place.

The world was dangerous.

The front counter was dusty. Most of the restaurant was dirty and looted. Elle wondered if there was any food left. An ice cream parlor wouldn’t be the first place people would look for food. After all, ice cream melts.

She checked over her shoulder and slid a small knife from her shoe. She angled her thin, short frame under the slivers of broken window glass and slipped inside, feet crunching against plastic wrappers and dirt.

She didn’t like being this exposed.

The building was cold. It smelled fetid. Something was rotting. A dead animal? Putrid food? She didn’t really want to know.

Elle walked behind the counter. The back of the kitchen was dark. Elle wasn’t crazy about searching it, but she pressed ahead anyway, the possibility of finding something to eat overcoming her anxiety.

She slid into the kitchen, squinting to make out the shape of the counter and the fridges. There was just enough light coming in from the front windows to see the cupboards. She yanked them open. There were several containers of sprinkles inside, a package of paper cups and a stack of napkins. Elle sighed, disappointed, and removed her backpack from her shoulders. She stuffed the cups and napkins inside. She could use them later.

She searched the other cupboards. There was an expired bottle of chocolate sauce, a box of toothpicks and a sealed box of sour candy. Elle tossed the candy and toothpicks into her backpack, searched the place one more time, and zipped it back up.

Her heart sank. She was hungry, and a box of candy wasn’t going to fill her empty stomach. She strapped the backpack on again and headed toward the front of the building, pausing at the window, scanning the street.

There. At the east end of the boulevard. Someone was watching. A man.

She dropped into a crouch, heart pounding against her ribcage.

Elle didn’t dare move. She knew how this game worked. The American Apparel building next to the crosswalk was where she had seen the flicker of movement.

She kept looking, searching. There it was again.

A black flash, a tiny streak. Another one by the bus stop. Two people? Three?

Great. I’m surrounded.

She looked up and down the street. Counted the dead cars sitting at the curb, estimating the amount of cover she would have on her way from Point A to Point B. It would be close, but she could do it if she moved fast.

And she was good at that.

She focused on her breathing as the adrenaline surged. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. This was a bad situation. They were always out there, looking for victims.

She shuddered and refocused her mind.

Stay focused. Don’t let them trap you!

Elle checked the back door in the building, but it was locked tight, rusted shut. She returned to the front, kneeling near the broken windows. She leaned forward on her fingers, like a runner preparing for a sprint. She ran fast and smooth on the wet sidewalk, straining to keep her footsteps silent. She huddled behind the first car that was parked on the curb, breathing hard.

Elle dared a glance behind her. Nobody. Yet.

She ran again, to the next car. Cover to cover. They could be anywhere, and staying behind something big was the only way to make sure that she would be safe. She made it all the way down the block.

I’m almost there.

She stopped behind the last car on the block, her fingers pressed against the cold asphalt. Someone jumped onto the hood of the car, making a heavy thud. Elle jerked backward and stood, holding her arms up defensively.

He was tall, dressed in black. Snakelike dreadlocks hung down his back. His dark eyes looked dead. He was holding a sword, a Japanese Katana. He leaped forward and charged at Elle.

Elle didn’t scream. She reached inside her jacket and drew her handgun. The words Smith and Wesson were engraved on the side of the barrel. Elle pointed the weapon at the center of his chest and fired. The shot was piercing. It echoed down the street, shattering the unearthly silence of the city. He jerked backward, hitting the car. He landed on his knees, staring at Elle as blood seeped through the material of his shirt. She stepped forward and kicked him in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. Elle never took her eyes from his as the life left his body. A red ribbon of blood streamed from the side of his mouth, his eyes fixed on the sky.

Elle scanned the area. She saw no other threats, so she holstered the handgun and stepped forward, kneeling next to his body. She searched his jacket and pants, finding a handful of bullets and a package of gum. She took the goods and picked up the sword, testing its weight in her hands. She took the scabbard and stood, overlooking the street.

The gunshot had sent others into hiding. Other people — more dangerous ones — would regroup and emerge again. It was time to get moving.

All was silent once again.