Forest Parkway, near the Town Hall, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 17:00
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Detective Keynes watched as the girl ran away, disappearing behind the Town Hall.
"Fucking dopehead!" Keynes cursed as he pushed the deflating airbag away. He felt blood on him. Looking to the driver's seat, he saw Phillip dead, his head split in half as if by fucking magic. Neither headrest nor windshield were damaged and his window was rolled up. How exactly someone managed to deliver a precise strike to the driver's head and split it in half inside a moving vehicle, without damaging the vehicle at all, baffled him.
It was all the girl's fault, he was sure of it.
He didn't move or released his seatbelt. He was already covered in blood and brain matter, Phillip could bleed in peace. Instead, he controlled his breath and tried to calm down. The cruiser was going slowly due to the poor road conditions and crashed vehicles and the officer suffered no damage. Keynes knew he needed a level head to have a chance to understand what was going on.
Minutes passed before he felt ready to take his notepad and pen down his thoughts.
> Fact one. It wasn't the first time he saw people getting sliced out of the blue.
>
> Fact two. The first time it happened, the fugitives shot the "zombies" first.
>
> Fact three. Whatever killed those people and Phillip, was invisible and could attack through solid objects.
>
> Fact four. The girl was running away from something. Maybe what killed Phillip.
>
> Fact five. Examining Phillip's wound, he found no burn marks. Flesh, bone, and tissue were cut, but it was a cold cut. So, it wasn't a laser or something that could strike through glass without harming the glass. The headrest also has no signs of damage or scorch marks, though the back of his head was also cleanly cut.
>
> Fact six. This was not the first oddity surrounding the girl. The black oil she was covered in remained unidentified even though he had people analyze a sample.
>
> Fact eight. The girl survived the blast and was unharmed. He saw some bandages on her head, but that must be shrapnel cuts. She seemed very healthy and awfully fast on her feet.
>
> Fact nine. Nobody knows what killed most of humanity. From their estimates and census data, the survival rate in their community was way lower than 10%, the most optimistic estimate.
>
> Fact ten. The meteor shower came out of nowhere. Something of that magnitude would've been detected by NASA years before it reached Earth.
>
> Fact eleven. The girl was running away from something. What? This is the same as #4 but I feel it's the key to solving this.
>
> Conjecture one. What were those "zombies"? Were they real zombies, or just grievously wounded people? Can they turn invisible?
>
> Conjecture two. If they weren't zombies but wounded people, what were they doing in the wreckage, and how did they survive this long?
>
> Fact twelve: Jones survived a gaping hole in his belly. He would eventually die but he survived hours longer than he should have. Something happened to increase his survivability. Even my leg...
>
> Conjecture three. What was the girl doing next to the plane crash? Did she come to see it, try to help any survivors, or whatever the drugs told her to do.
>
> Conjecture four. Was the girl running away from the same thing that killed Phillip? Why did she stop after our cruiser crashed? Again, this.
>
> Hypothesis one: Zombies are real. Whatever killed people turned them into zombies.
>
> Hypothesis two: It was a biological agent to which few people had immunity. It still knocked everyone out for a few days.
>
> Hypothesis three: It came from space. Alien virus? That's not farfetched after I've seen the dead move.
>
> Hypothesis four: This is the end of the world, Armageddon. The Apocalypse. The worthy were taken away by God, and the damned were left to roam the earth.
>
> Conjecture four: Wasn't there something about it in the Revelations of St. John?
"I need a Bible," Winston Keyes decided.
He assessed his current predicament. Amputated right leg above the knee, trapped in a crashed car. Dead partner. Probably a concussion from the airbag. His mechanized wheelchair was in the trunk. The radio... shattered during the crash. He doubted it would work.
Checking his whereabouts, the detective confirmed he was on Forest Parkway, near the city's administrative center. With a library less than two blocks away. A good place to find a bible and spend some time until rescue came, if nothing else.
*
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First Baptist Church, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 17:00
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A girl sat alone on the pews. The church held no service on Monday afternoons and nobody died inside. She had only regret for company, as well as the dust and ashes carried inside by the wind.
She prayed.
She wept.
She cursed her own failures. A man had died, and she blamed herself.
Sara felt horrible.
Not only because her right arm felt like it was dipped in embers but also because of the regret that her cowardice caused someone's death.
Coward. The word felt like bile in her mouth.
The girl braced her elbows on her legs, then hid her face and cried. What was she supposed to be? Some sort of hero? A messianic allegory? Was she going to die after activating that crystal?
"Get out of my mind, gaslighting fairy," she whined. "Leave me alone."
Abby affirmed.
"I killed a person," the girl bemoaned.
"Jesus?"
"Was Jesus real?" She wondered.
"Was he...?" She hesitated. She wanted to ask about the sanctity of Jesus.
Sara felt she wouldn't squeeze the truth out of the fairy if the crystal even knew it.
People often told her she was special because of her birthday when they learned about it. Just empty words on the wind. She never felt like that. She knew from the internet it was the rarest day of the whole year. Someone on Reddit ran the math and compiled a graph. Nine-eleven was the second rarest birthday.
She spent some time in quiet contemplation. Until Abby chimed in.
"Where?" She stood up in a hurry, slamming her knee against the pew in front of her. it didn't hurt as much as it should but she didn't notice it.
She had conflicting feelings. On one hand, she wanted to avoid contact and hated the cop. On the other hand, she wanted to scream at him and, more importantly, craved human interaction. With a living one, for a change. She wasn't even conscious of the latter but acted on it nonetheless. Sara went outside and slowly crept along the northern wall. The lots here had no fences, not even some shrubbery to act as a pedestrian barrier. A car could theoretically cut across the parking lot and sidewalk anytime it wanted. She felt exposed.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Near the corner, she heard an electrical motor whine like it was about to die. She glanced and saw the cop on a motorized wheelchair on the other side of the street, going toward the church. Getting cold feet and unsure of how or if she should introduce herself, she watched from the church's corner. The wheelchair was leaking something and thirty feet later, it stopped. The cop seemed to notice the leak only then.
"Dammit!" He slammed the armrest. "Radio's broken, chair's battery leaked, Phillip's dead, I swear to God, it's all that junkie girl's fault!"
She almost pulled back but that would be an amateur mistake. Sudden movements were easy to spot in one's peripheral vision. Their cavemen ancestors would go extinct without that ability. Not to mention her opponent was a well-trained police officer. She wasn't about to underestimate him just out of spite.
On second thought, maybe she should avoid the guy. Sara didn't move, assessing her surroundings and where she would put her foot before slowly slinking away. She didn't want to commit the comical faux pas of making a noise. That only happened in stories and on TV. A burglar was nothing if not careful. She wouldn't be caught if the gangster she tried to steal from hadn't rigged the house with dozens of stealth cameras. Or if she'd done her damn job and learned the guy was a paranoid gangster.
It was for the best, really. She got back in the system, got an affidavit, witness protection, and nice foster parents.
She went back to the parking lot of the church when the thought struck her. The guy had lost a leg, was stuck in a wheelchair that didn't work, alone in a dead city. With a broken radio. Sara could be callous when needed, but she wasn't heartless. She didn't give a fuck for other people most of the time but...
"Oh, dammit. What a time to grow a conscience."
She went back.
*
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Clayton County Public Library, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 18:00
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She went back to the corner but didn't peek. It would be a stupid mistake, especially when the other person was trained to keep aware of his surroundings.
"Are you in need of aid, officer?" She asked out loud.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" The cop demanded.
"I think not, sorry. Last time we met, you didn't respect my wishes."
"What do you want, girl?" His voice sounded angry and a bit afraid.
Sara was very nervous as well. The girl wondered again if she developed social anxiety.
"Help you, I guess. What you did was pretty stupid, but I guess you suffered some dire consequences. Also, I'm sorry about your partner in the SWAT van. Was he wounded too? What am I saying? He was, I saw him take a bullet to the stomach. Anyway, I'm sorry for your loss, is there anything I can do to help that won't put me in harm's way? That's what I wanted to say. Sorry for blabbering."
"No, it's fine. Shall we let bygones be bygones?"
"Nope. I still hate you. Regardless, you're a person in distress. There's very few of us left and most survivors seem like assholes."
"Your mileage may vary. I found a pretty decent group of people."
"They're not that decent if they let you join them. Kidnapper!"
The cop chuckled, "I thought you were here to help."
"I am. Want me to go away? Where are your pretty decent group of people now? I might tell them you're here."
"Won't you show me your face?"
"No. I'm afraid you'll shoot me."
"I can throw away my gun."
"Yeah. No. Can't see that happening and I'm not that gullible. Sorry, no face-to-face right now. Maybe later. Probably never. Did I tell you that I hate you, kidnapper cop?"
"You did. Name's Keynes. Detective Winston Keynes with the Forest Park PD," he paused for a while, then added, "At your service, Miss."
"Liar. You're unemployed. Everyone is."
"You got me. I still wear the badge and I'm proud of it. I was trying to rescue you from what would soon become a war zone."
"The whole world is a war zone."
"True. Were you in the buidling when... the blast happened?"
"Assholes. Seriously, whose idea was to do that?"
"Jones, the other cop, was mortally wounded. He volunteered to go out with a blast."
"Did he take the Necropolis King out?"
Keynes chuckled at the moniker. "Yes, he did. We found the body among the rubble."
"Great. One less psycho in this world."
"So, about that help."
"Sure. I won't go near you, but I can call someone. Where are your ragtag band of merry survivors?"
"At Forest Park PD HQ."
"Liar. That's south of the plane crash site. You wouldn't be arriving on the parkway."
"No, they're there. Phillip and I were at the University helping a few surviving students we found there, that's why we came from the east."
"Phillip?" Sara's voice raised an octave as she wondered with a lot of dread.
"The driver. He died mysteriously."
Sara made a whining noise like some animal dying as she swore Keynes was onto her. He sounded accusatory but maybe it was a cop thing.
"I-I'm sorry for your loss too," She tittered and her voice broke into a falsetto halfway.
"You wouldn't know how he died, right?" Another accusation.
"How would I? You saw me there. I was running."
"Why were you running again? You seemed very distressed. As if you were running away from something."
"It's important to keep one's body in top shape after Armageddon," she lied.
"It's okay to tell me. I'm not going to charge you with something or arrest you."
"Said every cop ever," she snorted. "Seriously, that was a lame attempt, officer."
"Lame," Keynes dejectedly remarked.
Sara gasped and huffed. "Look, I didn't mean to offend. I... I suffered a lot from prejudice to know. I wouldn't. Ever. Make such a bad joke intentionally."
"It's fine," he said in a not so reassuring way.
"No, it's not. The station is what, a mile from here? I'll go there and call someone."
"Wait. Before you go. I have a few questions."
"Find me a cop that has no questions and I'll show you two liars."
"How old are you?"
"I don't answer questions, officer."
"Come on! We were talking fine just now."
"Don't look the gift horse in the teeth, detective Keynes. Stay put. I'll go and call someone."
"Wait, don't go. Don't leave me here alone."
"Sorry, detective, I'm the last person one should look for emotional support."
Before Keynes could say anything else, Sara dashed back, went around the church, then crossed the Forest Parkway on foot. A mile for her was piece of cake.
*
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Forest Park PD, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 18:15
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Five minutes later, she arrived at the place. Too bad Sara didn't time her run, otherwise she'd be amazed at her improved body.
Two women were smoking outside by the parking lot entrance.
"Hey! Nine-one-one! I got a wounded person!" The girl shouted from the side of the residence next door. She wouldn't come close to other people.
"Hey, do we know you? Who's there?" One of the women asked.
"Detective Keynes had a car accident. He's next to the public library across the street from the First Baptist Church. He needs someone to go there and pick him up."
"You seem old enough to drive, girl. What's your name?" The other woman asked.
"I'm just here to call for help. It's going to get dark soon. Send someone to pick him up. The battery on his wheelchair broke and leaked."
"Oi! What about Phillip?"
Sara sighed, then looked away, "He didn't make it. Sorry. Anyway, that's what I came here for. Cya!"
She turned around and ran away. To shake any tails, she turned right on a residential street and crossed a few backyards. In this silent dead city, a single car made a loud enough noise to be heard two or three blocks away.
After she felt sure she wasn't being followed, she went back to Christine's house, avoiding the administrative district.
*
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Forest Park PD, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 18:17
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"Crazy girl," the smoking woman cursed.
"She looked very young. Why did you say she's old enough to drive?"
"Nah. She's just tiny. I think I saw her a few times when I dropped my kid..." the woman sighed sorrowfully. "Sorry. When I dropped my son at school. I think she is a senior. That's why I told you she was old enough to drive. That's the girl Keynes was talking about. Never thought she was dealing drugs in school. Shows how much you can trust your neighbors."
"We should go pick Keynes up. Wait, do you think it's a trap?"
"Totally a trap. Who knows what these drug junkies would do for a kick. I bet Keynes is fine."
"You said it!"
"We can't trust those drug addict types. Well, now my cig's gone sour," she tossed the cigarette down and stepped on it. "Come, let's go find something to drink."
*
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Clayton County Public Library, Forest Park, Clayton County, Georgia. Friday, October 18th, 2019. 20:40
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The girl didn't return and now it went dark. Did she even go ask for rescue, or was it a bad taste prank?
Winston Keynes gave up on being rescued. He abandoned the broken wheelchair and hopped into the library. A few people died inside, nothing unusual in this new world they lived in. He searched the librarian's purse and found car keys. After hopping back into the parking lot, he pressed the FOB and got a beep and flashing lights in response. An automatic shift, thank God for the small mercies. Driving without his right leg was hard but doable, so long he kept his speed low to avoid breaking. He strapped the seatbelt and drove away.
He drove past the airliner crash site, noticing it was thoroughly burned and did not start a large fire. Regrettably, he had no way to learn what happened in there. Maybe the black box recorder had some information if the pilot had used the radio or recorded some last message. The flight was erratic and he suspected something was amiss.
The lights were on at the station as he approached. Someone must've refueled the generator. He used the horn to warn them he was arriving, then turned into the parking lot. Only when the car was fully parked did the detective let his tension wane and his guard down. He was home so far as he was concerned. Feeling the familiar sensation of an adrenaline crash, he only had time to pull the parking brake before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Someone knocked on the glass. Keynes sprung his eyes open and checked. Hainsworth. He lowered the window.
"What the fuck happened to you?" The grizzled army veteran asked.
Tired and unwilling to sort his thoughts, Keynes just blurted everything out, "Was at the university, found four students alive. Then we saw the plane crash and went to investigate. Shit happened, Phillip died mysteriously, and I found that black pitch girl again. The radio was busted, took the wheelchair, and went to the library. The wheelchair was also busted and got stranded there. Girl shows up, we talk, and she volunteers to come and ask for help. Did she drop by?"
"Yeah. Rita and Evelyn were out for a smoke and met her. They say the girl was jittery, had red eyes, and was obviously high on cocaine or something. According to them, she bragged something about having killed Phillip, leaving you stranded, then bolted."
Keynes smacked the steering wheel. "Was this what those two bitches said? It's obvious—"
Hainsworth clapped the cop's shoulder. "I know. The girl was talking somewhat loud and I overheard some parts of their conversation."
"Why would they do that?"
"You're stressed, Keynes. I've seen guys in Iraq lose it when someone on their team got wounded by an IED. You leave them to me, okay? We need to be tactful because they are still recovering from being held prisoner by that maniac and his band of rapists, but I swear I'll have a stern talk to those ladies. You? You need some rest, something to warm you up. We got leftover soup with questionable meat for supper. Come, I'll pour you a bowl."
Someone came with a guest wheelchair and Hainsworth pushed Keynes inside.
"Did the guys have any luck with the power grid? What about the team sent to the records?"
"Guys came back before the plane crashed. A town official survived and went mad. Guy torched the paper records and did a number on their computers before he killed himself. Maybe we can restore something but not now. The landfill solar plant was a hit, though. They had some trouble with accumulated electricity but managed to discharge it without damaging the plant. If we can run a line we'll have all the electricity we need. I think we have some high-voltage cables in the military base, if not we need to search the shipping companies around. How was the university?"
"I already told you," the cop protested.
"Son, just answer it. You need to unwind."
"We found four student survivors. The dorms will take some effort to clean up but we can move in there. The campus is full of dead bodies, we need to dispose of them."
Nobody called for burials anymore. They did that to the families of the survivors but they had just too many dead people and too few live ones. It was a job nobody wanted to do so the corpses were left to rot.
"Hainsworth, send these two women who recognized the girl to Terrell Starr High tomorrow. I want her file."
"They'll do that, Winston. Don't worry."
Winston Keynes crashed into the station's nap room and went through his notebook one more time before he finally fell asleep. His leg was acting up, itching underneath his bandages. Without anyone with a sliver of medical training in their group, his amputation was made as they did in the 1800s. Not with just alcohol and a hacksaw, but very close to it.
He changed the bandages, noticing the angry purple on the stump. It wasn't healing right if it was healing at all.