Cassandra knew how effective the bombs were. She cleared the previous town and was glad this town was far enough away to survive the devastation of the blast. She finished clearing a block and crossed to the one. She almost yelped at the unexpected figure that walked down the road. Managing to restrain herself, she ducked back around the edge of the nearest house.

She eased around the corner and watched the figure meander away from her. His walk was nearly a shuffle, and his arms hung loose. His gait and posture made her worry about his condition. He very well could be infected. It wasn't supposed to take more than a few minutes, but human biology was complex, and there were always deviations from expectations. She was supposed to gather healthy survivors and avoid the sick and injured.

"Triage," the guys called it. They lectured about how difficult life would be and how resources would be scarce. Triage included anybody under twelve years old or over fifty. Anybody showing signs of sickness or having ambulatory issues had to be left behind. It was her duty to shepherd the rest back to a mobile processing center, or an MPC for short. The nearest one was scheduled for five days after the attack. She planned to spend a couple of days heading south and gathering whom she could. The closest MPC was in Durant, Oklahoma, and was about 50 miles due south. It would be a rough trek, but she knew she had to grab as many people as she could, and anybody who proved to be a hindrance would get left behind.

Her quarry crossed into a section of residential blocks. The rows of houses had mailboxes, trees, and decorative yard fixtures. She noticed a house with a picket fence surrounding the backyard. It gave her an idea.

Changing tactics, she cut away from the road and sprinted behind a house. Using the house as cover, she managed to get around him and head him off. After deciding on the best house, she crawled through the broken window and made her way to the front of the house. She squatted away from the window, using the shadow as cover. The man was four houses away and slowly getting closer. As he neared the third house, she started to pick up on a sound he was making. Two houses away, and she could hear him sobbing. She realized he was not a man but a teenage boy.

He edged around the house she was in, and she could see his face. There was no blood anywhere on him. His eyes weren't seeping blood; neither was his mouth or ears. He appeared to be traumatized or in shock, but he showed no signs of sickness.

He did not appear to be heading anywhere in particular. He trudged straight down the middle of the main street, heading toward a gas station. Beyond the station was the empty road. She knew she needed to get his attention, but he was in shock. Cassy didn't want to startle him. She exited to the next room. She wanted a better look at the boy. She was focused on getting to the nearest window and tripped over an unnoticed corpse. She crushed a flimsy nightstand as her weight slammed into it.

A ceramic seahorse lamp flew from the nightstand. It shattered on the floor and destroyed the silence.

Shit! If he heard that, he might bolt.

She dropped below the window and calmed her nerves for a moment. After a few deep breaths, her head peaked over the window frame. The boy walked onward. Still sobbing. If he heard her, he showed no signs of it.

Deciding on her course of action, she headed out of the room. She tried not to look at the blood-soaked form, but she had to step around it. She couldn't ignore the gruesome scene.

It was too much. Cassy couldn't shove it away. Her emotional walls blew away, and a flood of primal emotion overtook her. An immense sadness overwhelmed her. Cassy was a nurturer. She was the shoulder for crying and a hug for the weary. Sympathy, empathy, compassion, revulsion, sorrow, guilt…they all assaulted her. From all sides, from all directions, they crushed her. Her chin quivered as she fought to control her emotions.

She clamped her eyes shut. Tears pooled beneath her eyelids before they ran down her face. But the tears could not wash away the image of the bloody girl lying on the floor. The child was around ten years old. Her dark pigtailed hair was a weave of shimmering wet red and dull, crusted crimson. She floated in a pool of her own blood. Her snow-white pajamas swirled in a gradation of red hues as the silken fabric absorbed the ever-thickening liquid that jellied around her.

It is necessary. We must do what is necessary. Mankind depends on us.

Steeling her resolve, she wiped her face and hopped clear of the body. She hurried down the hallway and exited the back door. No longer able to see the boy, she decided to try to head him off. She circumvented the gas station and ran another 2 blocks before hiding behind an old wooden sign that read, "Welcome to Tupelo."

She planned to wait for the boy to approach the gas station, and she would then walk toward him. She felt this would be the best way to appear unthreatening and coincidental. She only waited a moment before he came slinking toward the gas station. She waited for him to be obscured by the fuel pumps so she could hurry out to the road and begin her walk toward him. Her head stayed low as she peaked to check his progress. The boy sat against one of the pumps. He was facing away from her, and only his right arm and leg were visible. She knew this was her best chance. She got to her feet and stepped toward the road. She swiped the dust and grime from her clothes and started his direction.

She froze.

A sharp screech pricked her ears. It was followed by the loud hiss of tractor-trailer brakes. Her training kicked in, and her right knee bent while her left leg pushed out to the side. Her torso twisted toward the sign, and she lunged behind it. After a full roll, her right arm and leg stayed wide. They struck the ground, and she let her knee and elbow absorb the momentum. Cassy finished the maneuver on all fours, with her head up, scanning the area around the station.

That's a tractor-trailer. But the bombs should have knocked out the vehicles.

She spotted movement. A large man appeared and approached the young man. She couldn't hear the words, but she could see the newcomer was trying to talk to the boy. She wondered if the boy knew the man. He didn't appear to be alarmed. She lost sight of the man as he walked around the pump to stand before the boy. She could just make out the top of the stranger's head and caught glimpses of his gesturing hands.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Maybe it's just some local, after all. He moves around like he is healthy enough. I need to get closer and see if I can hear what's going on. I may be able to gather them both.

Another figure materialized from around an overstuffed dumpster. She knew right away something was off. The newest man was flanking the boy.

The boy's hand pressed to the concrete as he pushed himself to his feet. The pump completely prevented her from seeing the boy, but she could still see the first man's head and hands.

Slowing to a tiptoe, the ambusher closed the last few feet to the pump from behind the boy. He pulled something from his pocket and carefully slipped around the pump. The pump prevented her from seeing what happened, but she could see the boy's right hand flailing. Then, it went limp. Moments later, the two men were carrying the boy toward the side of the gas station.

She started to run to the boy, but her training kept her in control of her emotions. She wanted to help, but she could not risk her safety. One boy meant nothing when considering the rough road mankind now faced.

Cassy didn't know if she would be able to help, but she could try to get closer. She needed to see what was going on. She did not know if this was an isolated event or if these men posed a risk to other survivors.

The men and their captive disappeared behind the station. She took advantage of this and sprinted straight down the highway. She needed to avoid being spotted, so she chose to keep the gas station between them. She sped toward the tall chain-linked fence that paralleled the station. Still a dozen feet away, she launched herself into the air. She soared over the fence, clearing the top rail enough to plant her right foot against it and thrusting herself toward the station's flat roof.

She could have easily landed on the roof, but she was not sure what was on the roof. It would not be good to slam into an air conditioner condenser or an exhaust vent. Instead, she aimed for the wide eve of the roof. The second jump was gauged perfectly. Instead of jumping toward the structure, she angled higher and neared the eve on her way down. She hit the side of the structure nearly flat to the eve. She led with her feet and let them absorb her impact. Her hands clasped the top of the roof's raised walls and stabilized her. She hung for a moment and listened. She could still hear talking coming from the other side of the parking lot.

Pushing out with one hand, she flipped her back against the wall and grabbed the roof with her free hand. She tucked her head backward beneath the overhang and curled her knee toward the eve. She straightened her legs and tightened her biceps. Forcing her legs over the top of the wall. As she rose, she crunched her stomach and let her rigid legs fold over the lip of the wall. With a twist of her wrist, her momentum pulled her head over the wall. A gentle push from her hands, and she flowed backward onto her feet.

Silently, she crossed the roof.

The sound of voices caused her to stop. She didn't have a chance to catch what was being said. The two men were already moving toward the truck. The bigger of the two men had the boy thrown over his shoulder. The young man was limp as a wet rag. She scanned around, but the area around the semi was wide open. If she jumped down, she would be spotted by the man who was feeding a hose into the station's fuel tank. The loud grating of a rusty hinge drew her attention. The big man had opened the door of the trailer, and she could no longer see him.

Numerous voices could be heard screaming and shrieking.

What the hell is going on?

It took all the discipline she had to keep from dropping down and sprinting to the trailer. There is always a bigger picture, but sometimes, the matter at hand can overpower logic. This was one of those moments for her. She trained for and witnessed the most gruesome and tragic experiences man could face. She had seen it all, but being able to save a life was a different experience. It was hard for Cassy to ignore a life she could save.

Her compassionate heart quarreled with her sense of duty, but she took no action as she watched the man close the trailer door and swing the latch down. He disappeared around the driver's side of the trailer, and she turned her focus to the other man, the one cranking on the pump.

She had no idea what the correct course of action was. She knew she needed to decide before it was too late. Her focus turned inward, and she pondered her dilemma. Her attention was drawn back to the external situation by the sound of rapid footfalls. A loud yell rang from a new stranger.

“FUCK” the new man yelled

The new man rushed at the pump-cranking guy and flung himself into the man. Both men hit the ground hard, but Kidnapper landed on his back, and his breath was taken. The man on top regained his feet and began kicking the pump cranker in the head and upper torso. When Pump Cranker used his arms to protect his head, Head Kicker stepped around and stomped his ribs. Pump Cranker did not try to escape or fight back. He kept his head covered and screamed, over and over, a single word…

"DILLON! DILLON! DILLON! DILLON! DILLON! DILLON!"

A loud, hollow thud caused her to look back toward the trailer. A very large bald man stumbled backward, away from the hood of the semi. He was stalked by the man who loaded the boy in the truck. Kidnapper wore a devilish grin as he stalked after this bearded bald man. Bald Man was shorter than Kidnapper by a few inches, but Kidnapper was slighter in build. Bald Man easily had one hundred fifty pounds on Kidnapper, but he was sheepishly retreating from him.

Cassy noticed a third man sprinting toward Kidnapper and Bald Man, but neither of the two seemed to notice him. Kidnapper became a blur as he sprang forward and wrapped his hands around Bald Man's neck. So fast was the movement that Bald Man's feet were dangling in the air before he had time to react.

Bald Man's face was rapidly shifting into darkening shades of red. She watched the big man claw and club at the hands that were choking him, but it did not affect Kidnapper's grip. Bald Man kicked out and landed a powerful blow to Kidnapper's testicles. This time, there was a reaction— but not one that boded well for Bald Man.

Kidnapper grunted from the kick, and his knees became a little looser. Bald Man's feet sank back to the ground. For a moment, she saw Bald Man's face go from panicked doom to hopeful optimism. That moment disappeared as fast as Kidnapper's grin reappeared. Kidnapper wore an expression of murderous glee. He redoubled his grip around Bald Man's throat and lifted the man as high as he could. Kidnapper stepped back, twisted, and then heaved Bald Man through the air. Bald Man flew a half dozen feet before his heels drug the concrete, and the rest of him came slamming onto the hard concrete. So forceful was the throw, Bald Man fully rolled backward and into a second flip before he began to tumble sideways…slamming into the third man.

"Drolka…" Cassy whispered in disbelief.

Now, she knew what she had to do.

Running at a full sprint, she jumped from the roof, aiming for the man she now assumed to be "Dillon." Before she landed, Dillon noticed her movement and looked her way. A look of yearning sprouted on his face. She could see he was not surprised by her arrival but eager for it. His posture was relaxed, unconcerned. That alone made her neck hairs prick up, but his gleeful smile made her question her decision.

Dillon spun around and waved as if he saw an approaching friend.

"Welcome, to the party. I'm glad you're here, pen'Kai." Dillon greeted.