Palm Reader at the End of the World

The last thing Marcus expected to find in the apocalypse was a **palm** reader. But there she was, under a splintered **palm** tree on what used to be Miami Beach, her crystal ball reflecting fires burning across the horizon.

"You're not one of them," she said, not looking up. The **zombie** horde shuffled past a block away, groaning their endless hunger. Marcus raised his machete, then lowered it. He hadn't spoken to another living person in three weeks.

"Your friend there—" she nodded to the **zombie** that had been his brother, now just another monster in the swarm "—he loved you. But not enough to stay."

Marcus collapsed beside her. The sand burned through his jeans. "How could you know?"

"I see things." She took his hand, traced the lines with dirt-encrusted fingers. "Head line's broken. Heart line's a mess. Life line..." She paused. "You should have died yesterday."

He laughed, a dry, cracked sound. "Join the club."

She pulled something from her bag: a single fresh coconut, hacked open, the sweet water inside miraculously preserved. "My last one. You want to know the future? This is it. Whatever we make of it."

Marcus looked at his brother—no, not his brother anymore—and at the woman reading his **palm** as the world ended. In that moment, he realized something: the apocalypse hadn't killed humanity. It had just stripped away everything fake.

"I'm Marcus," he said.

"Elena," she replied, pressing the coconut into his hand. "And I think we just became each other's only hope."

Behind them, the **zombie** that had been his brother shuffled on, eternal and empty. Ahead, the **palm** tree stretched toward smoke-choked skies. And for the first time since the world fell apart, Marcus didn't want to die. He wanted to live—messy, broken, but human.