Harris Kilpatrick trudged slowly down the hill in the relative darkness. This close to civilization, ambient artificial light had permanently changed the experience of night; there were no stars in his sky and there never had been. An incredibly ironic metaphor for the 20 year old self-described "eternal optimist." Experiencing an uplifting metaphor was why the Oakland native had fled to the East Bay hills in the first place, seeking a suitable environment to resonate with who he wanted to be. He had thought that he might be able to recapture his optimism, away from and above the every-day realities of modern life. He had thought that he'd be far enough from the city lights to see the stars above, that he'd be close enough to nature to feel like an intrinsic part of the environment, and that he'd be able to refresh belief that freedom and equality were enough to allow the talented, honorable, and hard working to build a life. To succeed. To win the game.
Instead, Harris had exhausted himself after another long day of study and work. Hiking because he couldn't afford the rideshare, and wasn't willing to pay the price for the reward fare, he had arrived in the park in the dark and found disappointment. He remembered differently. Less overgrown by the invasive eucalyptus. Less punishing with poison oak. Admittedly, he hadn't seen the poison oak in the dark, but he was quite sure he'd be intensely regretting the trip for what he could feel of the poison oak. And there were NO STARS IN HIS SKY. Modern life had removed them with its pollution. And THAT was the metaphor he was feeling as he trudged. His goals were obscured by the monuments and needs of others. The very forest was invaded with the ancient implants of the previous generation's wealthy. Brotherhood. Bullshit. Equality. Bullshit. Freedom. Within appropriate bounds.
The dirt road gave way to blacktop and he could see streetlights in the distance. Soon he'd be back, slotting once more into his place. Slotting into his role. Neatly defined with a glass ceiling he'd never be able to afford to break. Just like his parents hadn't. Just like his friends wouldn't.
Maybe I should stop avoiding the family gift of alcoholism Harris thought.
He continued his walk until he was approaching the zoo. Somewhat surprised he hadn't encountered many signs of life. It was late, nearing 2:30 am, and there was a fog rolling in from the bay, so it wasn't too unusual. But in an area that had tripled in size in the last decade, blowing up to a population of more than 20 million, it was hard to truly get away from people for long, even with most people staying jacked into VR most of their lives.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Harris' surprise didn't last long as he noted a convoy of 3 semis pull into the zoo's shuttle lot and park side by side, but it returned surprise returned shortly after when a convoy of 3 dark SUV's pulled in between each truck.
Super weird. Maybe "Don't get involved or caught looking that direction kind of weird."
Harris decided to study his trudging feet as he tried not to listen to the metallic sounds of trailer doors swinging open. He was too far away to hear any soft sounds like conversation.
Again metallic sounds rang out, this time sounding like a lid popping and subsequently being dropped onto a metal floor.
Maybe I should get out of view, this seems sketchy.
The sound of hinges needing grease were suddenly punctuated with a sharp cracking noise followed by a loud pinging. His neck clenched at the escalation and he decided hiding sounding like a great idea. The roadside dipped and had some grass. Not ideal, but it would do to block the perspective from the parking lot.
A loud grinding noise of something heavy being dragged sounded from the parked truck and a curt voice shouting something.
Another pop. Hissing. More shouting.
Gun shots rang out. Harris had ducked into the shallow roadside area and dropped low to the ground. His pulse hammered in his veins. His face and fingers went numb, but his eyes opened wide with the adrenaline. He couldn't help his sudden intense curiosity. Fuck it, I just spent a day realizing I don't have a future anyway.
He shimmied up the small incline to look between the clumps of crabgrass. He expected to see men fighting, or a standoff with guns as people took shelter. He expected to see frantic movement or people trying to flee. He didn't expect to see...nothing. A gray cloud obscured the trucks, SUVs, and any sight of the people Harris had seen briefly before.
What the...
Harris felt a strong gust of wind. Another gun shot sounded from the cloud, this time sounding muffled. More of a thump.
Harris' pulse ratcheted up another few dozens beats per minute.
The cloud of gray started to roll towards Harris' position with the wind.
Nevermind, fuck this, I'm out! Harris thought, feeling his fearful and excited adrenaline burst shift toward panic.
He glanced around the ditch and road, planning his next steps. Just before he decided to run toward and across the highway for the most immediate distance from whatever the hell was happening, he glanced back towards the whatever-the-hell-was-happening.
Everything seemed to stop. The cloud was closer than it should be. A tendril seemed to reach out toward him, leading the cloud, and only feet away from Harris. Something seemed to be moving inside the tendril of gray.
That's not good at al.....
And that was the last thing Harris Kilpatrick remembered that night.