The streets of Atlanta lay empty, a hollowed-out canyon of concrete and glass. Cars sat frozen where panicking people had abandoned them—doors flung open, suitcases spilled. Wind whispered through the towers, carrying scraps of paper and the moans of walkers.

Storefront windows were smeared with grime and handprints. Traffic lights blinked red to no one. A bus rested jackknifed across an intersection, its dark windows reflecting a skyline.

The street had multiple shadowed alleys leading to from time to time. A rusted fire escape groaned as going higher, higher—away from the streets that were like a trap for any might left over human.

At the rooftop, the city finally spread out in full. Atlanta stretched in every direction, vast and unmoving, a dead ocean of buildings under a bleached sky. The wind was stronger up here, clean and cold, carrying no voices at all.