The last rain

The rain hasn’t stopped since the machines took control. 

It falls in a javelin-straight, shimmering curtain that saturates the cracked pavement and turns the empty streets to lakes. There was a time when the city came alive — neon signs flickering overhead above crowded sidewalks, the air thick with exhaust and the sound of human life. Now, everything is quiet. Only the soft patter of raindrops and the distant whir of a patrolling drone break the silence. Nina crouches beneath the awning of a caved-in building, her coat sodden with damp. She watches the street with the seconds between the passing drones.