The metal door looks sturdy.

How am I going to get out of this? I slip through and into an old theater.

One of many abandoned after the virus.

Should I hide or barricade or both? Barricading takes time and may not even slow them down. Hiding it is.

My gaze flies over the dusty seats, around scattered facades, and finally up to the ceiling.

This place has an old-style walkway. I can hide up there.

I quickly locate the dubious ladder to safety.

I climb slowly, not trusting each rung. My body screams at me to rush, but my rational mind holds firm. Better slow than to collapse this metal monstrosity.

The rusted cabled walkway gives me pause. Would it hold my emancipated body?

The door’s removal informs me that I have no choice now.

Slowly, I lay down on the walkway.

The massive dark shadows stomp onto the stage. Huge dark arms throw fake trees and houses around.

I am breathing hard, thanking everything holy that these things can’t hear. Praying to the different gods that they would leave soon.

They stalk the stage like past echoes of actors I barely remember, then down to destroy the red seats.

Why always in pairs? Who cares, part of me answers, just stay still.

They are moving slower, good, soon I hope they will leave.

Suddenly, a twang rings out, and the walkway jerks.

They don’t react.

Will it hold just a little longer?

Across the walkway, across the entire theater, is a door.

Could I crawl the length?

The pair are curling up in the middle of the stage for the night.

Slowly, I crawl towards the door and possible safety.

I pray with each inch forward.

Halfway, still holding.

Five feet more, still holding.

2 feet and the twangs of failing cables echo around the theater.

At least it’s over, is my last thought.