We had woken up to a dense fog across the city. Buildings and cars barely visible through the smoke, but unlike your typical clouds this was more like floating smoke. It would bounce off walls and you can see people inhale it as if the smoke were a parasite racing to get into your lungs. Drug stores sold out of masks within minutes as the frenzy began to turn into panic, people were scared.
Cashiers ran for cover after locking their doors, but nothing could stop random objects from shattering many windows before store gates could close. Ordinary humans were becoming monsters seeking gallons of water and masks, or anything they could turn into a filtration system. The real panic didn’t set in until the first people started to collapse on the ground. We couldn’t tell if they were dead before ambulances swept in and started cleaning the bodies from the streets.
The screams are scars in my mind. I couldn’t tell if the screams were of horror or if they were due to pain and agony, but I couldn’t help the curious thoughts of when my time would come. I have been breathing the air for hours now, but when a person collapsed near me I became selfish. Instead of helping them to their feet, I reached down and slid the mask off their face only to slip it on my own. Within minutes I was pushed aside as rescue workers rushed over to pick up the person.
As they lifted her she dropped her purse and the water in her hands. I searched the purse looking for a name to say thank you to, and found her ID. Stacy Welling. My current hero … that is if it wasn’t too late for me. I looked up to see where they were taking her. She laid there, belly down on a stretcher, not very comfortably either. The workers were in a panic, let alone a hurry, and didn’t have time to properly lay her down on her back, but then I saw it. Her eyes opened, at first they looked normal, and she looked alive.
I chased them, “wait!” I screamed racing to give her mask back. I can’t be the reason she dies, not today. Then it happened her eyes turned a deep red, her neck twisted in an odd way, and she tried to press herself up. This frightened the rescue workers carrying her so they dropped her to the street. Her head bashed into the ground with enough force to make my own feel the pain. One of the paramedics reach down and grabbed a gun.
The blasts of the bullets as they travelled to their destination embedded in the asphalt beneath Stacy’s blood soaked body is something I won’t forget. The paramedics kicked her a few times, almost as if they were checking if she were a dead animal before they picked her back up and carried her off. Only one paramedic would turn to look at me. Was he waiting for me to be next?