The dark-haired girl ran through the streets of Zagreb around eight o’clock at night Central European Time. But who kept up anymore? Sure, there was a time at Uni when the chime of this hour meant a snack break from her history studies, but, like history, those times were dead. Tonight, she ran for her life.
Smoke and cinder carried on the wind. The old complex housing the Cult of Night exploded in a spectacular light show an hour ago. In celebration of General Callahan’s efforts, henceforth known as Volcano Day, the people of her shelter finally took a stand. No more cowering. No more waiting for the next raid. Tonight, they took back their city.
So here she was at twenty-five, running a relay race like this was sports day in grade school. The first girl ran from the compound with Icari chasing her. After taking a corner and making an exhausted hop into a window, she handed off the baton. The two Icari in pursuit lost sight of her and chased after the next person.
A blond guy. Formerly a math major. He darted off faster than expected and climbed three stories up a drain pipe before he passed the torch to our current bait runner.
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The last one.
Not far now. Exhilarated by the chase and the leap to the next roof, she grinned. If this was her last act—her last moment—she was fine with that. Taking part in the world-wide eradication of Icari loyal to that monstrous King went beyond just her life. It meant securing a safe world for future generations of humans and Icari with advanced alien technology. Besides, she totally had this.
One leap. One dodge from an Icarean sweep. And this was it. The moment of truth. She clutched the carefully placed pole and vaulted. Not off the roof. To the other side of it. Wild and breathless, she turned back with fierce anticipation.
The Icari didn’t notice. They didn’t stop. All they wanted was her blood. She was so close. Only a few steps away—
They fell through the roof. She jumped and punched the air with an enthusiastic, “YES!”
Hoots and hollers erupted from within the ancient building. She dared lean closer to the hole they curated for such a trap. Three stories down, the single surviving Icarus groaned and cried. He clutched at the gold-tipped rebar pike impaling his midsection. His companion died next to him, pierced through the skull, chest, and leg.
As the last Icarus died, people gathered around the pikes and celebrated. Many more evil Icari remained, but the morale boost granted the humans confidence. They would eliminate the rest. She helped make that possible, and it felt good to contribute. To say she was a part of Volcano Day.