The motor is right above me. Vibrations shatter the still morning. I lift my head in search of its source. “No! Don’t move!” Bowen whispers, pressing on my shoulder. “Look.” He nods toward my cuffed and restrained ankles. Slowly I lift my head again and peer down the length of my body. Above my stomach hovers a tiny bird, inspecting the crimson stain on my shirt. Its wings drone like a motor and I am filled with awe. This fragile hummingbird is the first living, wild animal I have seen since waking up in this dead world. Its bright-green chest and red-capped head are startlingly out of place. “Where’d it come from?” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from it. “The wall. There are hundreds of hummingbirds living inside of it. Every once in a while one gets out. It thinks your blood is a flower. It’s probably on the verge of starving to death.” The hummingbird, realizing my shirt isn’t a flower, darts away, sweeping through an empty window and leaving the morning disturbingly silent.
