prologue
A man is tottering in the street. His steps are hesitant, as if he were still learning to walk. He stares into the void, slides on the tar, accompanied by the terrible smell that haunts the avenues. There's someone else like him on the sidewalk. This caught up with him because he runs a little faster; but even when his gestures seem more determined, he has the same dead eyes.
When one tries to express himself with words, only a short syllable comes out of his dry throat, to which the other can only respond with a blank shrug. In the meantime, the flesh that drove them both is also on their feet. They put all their fingers inside the carcass that has been torn apart for a few hours. In the many ruins of the devastated small town you can recognize different parts of the body, as well as a backpack that was left behind, the owner of which is now in its own blood. His limbs were torn to and fro by those who were ahead of the two wanderers. One of them tears a piece out of another dead man and leads it to his damaged lips, while the other rushes on the rest of the body by sticking his entire face in the bowels.
A car was parked across from them, its red paint is crumbling and its tires are flat. The headlights are broken and the license plate is covered in dust and dirt, making the numbers illegible. Through the not so very clear, closed windows you can see, if you take a closer look, the facial features of a child whose wet eyes are fixed on those in front of him be devoured. It's a little girl who has had to stay calm for ages and only hopes one thing: that this is all just a nightmare. Otherwise, the desperation has been filling her up for several hours. With her head in her arms and scratching legs, she thinks that she has no reason to be in the New World anymore.
