The park used to be called Green Meadow. Now, the survivors just called it "the teeth."
Because that's what the mutated flora looked like: Rows of green teeth, waiting to close around anything dumb enough to walk through them. The vines moved when you weren't looking. The ferns bled when you cut them. And the flowers… Gary didn't want to talk about the flowers.
He was a tax accountant. Or he had been, before the world ended. Now he was just a man in a rusted-out van, running out of oxygen, surrounded by things he couldn't see. "Linda," Gary whispered, "the oxygen's running low, and those things are denting the roof. I'm sorry I never told you where I hid the emergency crackers."
Linda, a retired librarian who had shushed exactly one zombie to death and still couldn't believe it had worked, squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Gary. At least we—"
She stopped. Outside the van's reinforced window, something was moving. Not a Stalker. Those moved like liquid shadows, all grace and murder. This was... a man. In a sweater vest.
"Gary," Linda said slowly, "Is that a man? Is he human?"
Kevin, a former bowling alley employee, pressed his face against the windshield. "He's... he's humming. Gary, there is a man walking through the Death-Ferns, and they are literally wilting and turning into dust before his feet even touch them. He's carrying a bag of... is that birdseed?"
Gary peered through the window. "I can see that." And indeed he was. The man was wearing a sweater vest. Cream-colored. His khakis were pressed. His loafers were spotless. He walked through the bio-hazardous jungle like he was strolling through a Sunday morning farmer's market.
And the Stalkers? Those invisible predators that had been hunting Gary's group for three days, unrelenting and ferocious? The man stepped on one. Gary saw it happen. One moment, the man's foot came down on seemingly empty air. The next, there was a pop like a grape being crushed, and a spray of black goop. The man didn't even stumble.
"Look at him" Linda breathed. "He's not even looking at the Stalkers. He just... stepped on a Cloaked Alpha and it popped. Like a grape." The man was heading straight for the van.
"Act natural!" Kevin hissed. "Don't let him know we're meat!"
"Kevin, we're in a van surrounded by invisible monsters! There's nothing natural about this!" The man tapped on the window.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Polite. Rhythmic. To the survivors, each knock sounded like a funeral bell. Gary rolled the window down exactly an inch. "W-we're fine! We're just... observing the... local wildlife!"
The man beamed. His teeth were very white. "Isn't it wonderful? Although, some of the 'dogs' out here are remarkably large." He gestured vaguely at the tree line. "I saw one trying to climb your roof! I gave it a stern look, and I think it went to lay down."
Kevin stared back, dazed. He had watched through the reinforced glass. He had seen the man turn his head. He had seen his eyes land on the Stalker that had been trying to peel open the roof. And he had seen the Stalker melt.
The creature didn't "lay down." It died. It died so hard that its body evaporated. "Actually," the man said, "Since you're here, have you seen a postman? I have a utility bill that's terribly overdue. I'd hate to get a late fee."
Linda's hand moved on its own. She grabbed a crumpled piece of scrap paper from the floor, some old receipt, meaningless, and thrust it through the window gap. "Here!" she said. "Take this! It's a, uh, Post-Dated Waiver! Just show it to the... the darkness! They'll understand!" The man took the paper. Examined it. Smiled.
"Oh, how kind! A waiver." He folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket. "Well, let me help you get out of this 'pothole' first." He placed one hand on the back of the van. The two-ton, armored, rusted-out van.
"One... two... and heave!"
The van flew. Gary felt his stomach drop as the vehicle launched forward,clearing sixty feet of mud, mutated vines, and confused Stalkers before landing perfectly on the paved road with a screech of tires. "WE'RE FLYING!" Kevin screamed. "WE'RE ACTUALLY FLYING!"
Gary grabbed the steering wheel, heart pounding. "How did he- the van weighs- that's not possible- " Behind them, through the rear window, they could see the man waving. A handkerchief. White. Clean.
"Drive safely!" the man called. "Watch out for those 'puddles', they look quite deep!" He turned and walked back into the jungle, pulling out a piece of paper. A grocery list, Linda realized. He's looking at a grocery list.
"Well," the man said to himself, "I'll just deliver this to the next person I see. It's the neighborly thing to do."
The survivors sat in silence. Then Kevin spoke. "Did... did he just one-handedly throw a van?" Gary stared at the rearview mirror. The man was already gone, swallowed by the Death-Ferns that had wilted before he touched them.
"He's the god of the new world, Kevin." Gary's voice was quiet. Reverent. He paused. "From now on, we don't worship god. We worship the man in the sweater vest."
Linda was already unbuttoning her jacket. "I think... I think I'm going to start wearing a sweater vest. For protection." Outside, somewhere in the distance, they heard a cheerful whistling of the song Mr. Sandman.
"Such nice kids" Arthur said to no one in particular, stepping over a pile of Stalker remains. "I really do love the fresh air. So peaceful." He tossed a handful of birdseed into a bush. The bush exploded into flowers. Arthur didn't notice. He was already thinking about dinner.