It had been a long, tiring day, but it was the last one: the last day, the last window. After this he would move on to another city, then another country, then another continent.

He had decided to walk it: from Tel Aviv to Tel Aviv, all the way around the world. He’d use a boat when he had to, but otherwise it was all going to be on foot. There was no one left to get in his way: no more borders, no more guards, no more checkpoints. No more people. At least, no more people he knew about.

And that was part of the mission, really: to see if there were any more people. He had chosen his own method of locating them. He wasn’t broadcasting a radio signal, he wasn’t painting slogans on walls, he wasn’t setting off bombs or shouting from skyscrapers or driving around in a loud car, firing off rounds from an M-16.

But he had to attract attention somehow, if indeed there was attention to be attracted. He’d systematically walked the streets, found every one left.

He hefted a rock.