“The last time I saw Paris,” he said, taking a drag from his cigarette, “it was on fire.”

“Because you set it on fire,” I said.

“Well.” He waved dismissively, smoke curling around his scarred right hand. “Someone had to.”

We watched the sun slide into the vast blue ocean. The sand between my toes was still warm, but a stiff wind began to blow in from across the water.

“I miss the Louvre,” I said softly. “I don’t suppose you saved anything?”

He shook his head. “No time. Art is great, but I’m not risking my life for it.”

I took a sip of coconut water and sighed. “Stuff survives for hundreds, thousands of years, and then poof. Gone.”

“Like humanity.”

“Like humanity,” I echoed. “Still, we’re here, eh?”

“Cheers to that.” We clanked our glasses together and drank as the last sliver of sun vanished, leaving only an orange-red sky darkening to blue-black.

“Think we’ll ever take the mainland back from the zombies?”

He dropped the dying butt of his cigarette in the sand. “Not enough fire in the world.”