A little bit of the tension rolled back over Ben as he stared down at the broad street between them and the final block. There were no big groups or clusters, and they were unaware of the watchers above on the rooftops, but there were still about two dozen or so of the dead down there as best Ben could judge. One of them caught his eye; it was Duster. He’d settled into a half-sitting, half-fallen position against the building across the street from them, staring up the street vacantly, unmoving.
Ben looked up the street in that same direction. The numbers did thin out that way before too long, and the roofs didn’t look too difficult to navigate …
“Hey, you still awake?” Claire passed him a bottle of water.
“Yeah. Just thinking ‘bout how to get across there. Or rather how we don’t have to get across there.”
She followed his gaze and nodded. “I’m getting awfully sick of rooftop life, but it’s better than being dinner.” Her voice was a touch resigned as she said that. They were both sore today, not just him. Neither of them had been professional athletes before their banishment, and yesterday had been a grueling experience that wasn’t over yet.
“I haven’t been out to this part of the city much. Before the end, I mean. I know there’re docks around but I don’t know what we’ll find there, or where the best ones are.” He drained half his bottle. “Boats may have sank years ago, or floated free, or been moved.”
“We’ll find something. Maybe like we did with the car. Check inside. There must be boathouses, places people kept them when they weren’t in the water.”
“We can hope. Worth a shot, if we don’t find anything more convenient.” His tone was eloquent in its expression of how likely he thought it was for anything to be convenient these days.