Eight months ago, Michael would have sneered at simply eating baked beans for dinner. That was a meal for the poor; for someone who lived on the street, or as a side-dish. As the sole ingredient of the main course, baked beans would never have sufficed. Now, though, Michael looked forward to the prospect of such a meal. Any meal at all, really, would be the pinnacle of his day. Or, theirs, as it was now. They were a group of three, currently, traveling together. Before [i]they[/i] arrived, he was content with his solitary life. He'd never had much use for other people. He had found them only as interference. Yet things had changed. Society had changed. No man could survive in this mess by himself. No man could stand up against [i]them[/i] unless in number. People, the few who remained, had to stick together if they were lucky enough to find each other. Otherwise, there soon wouldn't be any more men to speak of. Mankind faced extinction. Michael lived, for now, but knew his existence could be cut short any day; by any chance encounter, by any of the many diseases the creatures had brought with them, or by starvation and dehydration. The era of the shopping mall had ended. [i]Their[/i] era had begun. The vicious creatures. They possessed no love, nor compassion. They were as kindless as the insects they resembled. They didn't care for other species, or for symbiosis. They didn't care for cooperation or negotiation. Their only goal was to multiply. At first, although Michael had never been a believer, had thought their arrival on Earth as a punishment from God. That they were deserving of this, somehow. However, as time dragged on, he discontinued this belief. He saw more and more similarities between [i]them[/i] and themselves. Only, they were now experiencing it from a whole different perspective. People were no longer on top. They were at the bottom, equal now with all the animals they had previously hunted. Animals they had hunted for necessity, or for sport. We hadn't sympathized with them, he thought, so why should [i]they[/i] sympathize with humans? 

Michael shivered. His baked beans were as cold as his rump. It was October, now. He had never liked the cold, but forced himself to be content with it. There had been fewer and fewer sightings of them, since the temperature started to drop, so he accepted the cold with that in mind. The journey they had started on five weeks ago had been tough for their group. They had started out as eight, all positive and ready for the treck north. But now only three remained, whose spirits were sapped. And they hadn't even reached Canadian borders yet. Tomorrow, though, they would enter the once great city of New York. As it were, they were lingering in the state's suburbs on the southern side. They were in an old wooden house; the type of house you'd see and think of the American dream. It would have looked very nice, once. Michael always fantasized about places they stayed at, or went past. Who had lived there before, and how it had looked. It was a nice escape from reality. As it were, the house was dark and ruined and smelled of mold. Most of the indoors were intact, which was why they'd chosen that specific house. There were beds enough for all of them, and the house wasn't likely to topple on them. 

"Sod it all," a dark voice spoke in anger. Dennis Heartman was a good man, deep down, but he managed to hide it well. Ten years ago, he'd been arrested, charged and convicted for a multiple homocide. To this day, he claims his innocence. His prison stay was shortened, however, by the arrival of [i]them[/i]. As a desperate last act, the President had conscripted all convicted felons, to bolster their ranks. Dennis' sentence had been shortened by two lifetimes that day. As circumstancer were, however, life would ironically have been better if he had gotten to live out his days behind bars. Michael, being the leader of sorts of this rag-tag group, had never regretted befriending Dennis. It wasn't a physical challenge too demanding of him, and if there ever were a fighting man, it was him. In a sense, Dennis had all the qualities Michael lacked. Yet he could, at times, be a royal pain in the ass. Especially with his grumbling. Dennis threw his half-empty can of beans across the room. Its red contents spilled all over as it hit the wall with a clank. "I'm sick of this shit. Day in, day out, walking here, walking there, across this state, over that. And what do we have to show for it? Nothing! A can of cold, baked beans each, before we go to sleep in this crappy hole. And what's happening tomorrow? Oh, yeah. More walking! And possibly, we'll stumble upon huge insects who wants kill us and lay eggs in our guts. Yeah. That's what I'll call a life worth living," he said fiercely. Michael found it suprising that Dennis' blood could boil even on this chilly evening. 

"Calm down, Dennis," Michael tried, but the big man grunted and headed for the door. "You shouldn't go outside at night. Least of all by yourself. You know they prefer it when it's dark." 

"I'll be fine. Just need to walk a bit. By myself," Dennis said. 

Michael wanted to protest further, but he'd already gone out the door. In any case, it wouldn't have done any good, Michael reckoned. He sighed, and turned to their doctor. "You're not going mad on me too, are you, Doc? I don't fancy being the last sane, living man in this group."