I step back. The thug in front of me lunges at me, but he stumbles on the cop’s remains. His bat flies out of his hand. In the gloom, the second guy, the one who tried to circle me, takes a few moments longer than normal to process and understand what is happening.

I flee. They’re not worth it. After all, I may need to use the gun on someone more threatening. Perhaps on whatever has killed all these people.

They shout empty threats at me, but after I round the second corner, their voices fade in the distance. Let those two idiots loot my house all they want. There’s nothing in there worth taking. And they’ll never find me in this darkness.

My stomach twists, and to drive its point of how empty it is, it starts grumbling. I need food. And since I’m no longer at home, and I’m pretty sure the end of the world is upon me, there’s only one thing left to do. I stop and weigh the gun in my hand, then look back the way I came. But I won’t do it like those two thugs. Not like them. Not unless I absolutely have to. I could trade for things. Things of value.

When I round the next corner, I run into another couple.

“Get away from us,” a man says. Judging by the sound of his voice, he must be around sixty or so. Still, his voice is booming and carries a lot of authority. He waves something in front of me once, like a warning in case I’m stupid enough to think about making the wrong move. Must be a knife. Will he use it? Is he capable of killing me? Is he like the pair of thugs?

“Do as he says.” The second disembodied voice is a woman’s. His wife’s most likely. There’s a high pitch to it, an indication of fear tainting it, but not much.

They can’t see it, but I’m pointing my gun at them. “No need for violence. Just looking for food.” I could shoot them, but that would make me no different than the pair of thugs. I won’t be like them. I lower the weapon and put it in my pocket.

The woman presses her body closer to her husband, and in doing so the things she carries jiggle and clatter a little. Cans of food. No more than two or three of them, probably.

“Don’t worry,” I hurry to add. “I’m not going to steal your food. But you might want to be careful. There are a couple of thugs a few blocks back who will smash your heads for what you’re carrying.”

The man pushes his wife behind him.

“So we’ll both carry on our way, yeah?” I say and try to walk past them.

“No, you won’t. You’ll stay right here until we leave.”

Cold wind is coming from my left. I gaze up at the heavens. The sky is covered in invading clouds.

“Look buddy, what happened here and killed so many people is most likely still around. I don’t want to spend another minute out here where it can get me, and I don’t want to spend another day without food. Not to mention there’s a storm coming.” I nod at the clouds, but I doubt they can see me doing it.

“I don’t think you should worry about the demons during the night, son,” the man says. “I have a feeling it’s something to do with the light.”

“The light?”

“We saw people getting torn by monsters when light touched them,” the woman chimes in. She whispers her last words, as if the memory steals her strength. She must be terrified.

“Not monsters,” the man says. “We saw people’s shadows coming to life and tearing them to pieces. Or something that looked like their shadows. If you ask me, I’d say their shadows acted like some sort of portal to hell that allowed demons to come into our world.” He turns and looks at his wife. “Or something like it, anyway.”

Demons? Portals? Those two are nuts. But something did attack Patty Jefferson, and hacked the cop into pieces.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds,” the man hurries to add as if reading my thoughts. “But we saw it, and that’s what I think it is.”

“Don’t let light get you,” the woman says. “The emergency broadcast said that if it glows, it kills.”

“Any kind of light?” I still can’t bend my mind around it. I remember the lights flickering last night, not just in my house, but over at the Jeffersons’.

“Pretty much,” the man says. “We’re leaving now.” The two walk away from me. “And don’t try to follow us. Do yourself a favour, son, and stay out of our way. I don’t want to kill you, but the army has taught me how to do it.”

Wherever they came from, there must be food. Some store perhaps. I think I know where I am, though it’s hard to tell in this darkness. If my memory serves, there’s a convenience store not far from here.

My hand brushes against a lamppost, and the couple’s words come back to me. If they were telling the truth, I’d better stay away from all possible light sources. I don’t believe in demons and portals opening up, but just in case. The last thing I want is flickering street lights. Best option right now is going through backyards and side streets.

Twenty minutes or so later, angry voices disturb the night’s silence. Dark figures are coming out of what I think is the convenience store. My stomach twists, as if it senses food and wants to rip itself from my body and run towards it. And yet, at the thought of stealing and looting, I hesitate.

My hunger has a different opinion.

Shattered glass crunches under my feet as I step inside. People jostle past me or push me out of their way. There are more bodies than the shop can take. Small fights break out over anything people can get their hands on. To the victor go the spoils, I guess.

A can rolls to my feet. I pick it up and surprise myself by how hard I hold on to it, even though I have no idea what it contains. Out of instinct, or perhaps driven by collective behaviour, I grab another one before a meaty hand has a chance to take it. The little voice in my head tut-tuts me.

“That’s mine,” a woman next to me says. Without a doubt, the owner of the meaty hand. “I saw it first. Give it back.”

“Lady, we can’t see past our noses here.”

She attacks me with near lightning speed. “I said, give it back!”

I struggle to keep her away from me and to hold on to my loot. My mind focuses on the gun in my pocket, but reason stays my hand. I don’t want to hurt her or anyone else. No need to kill or scare people any more than they already are. I need to slip away from her and this place.

Something solid and hard connects to my shoulder. It almost paralyses my right arm. It can’t have been her. Another blow lands on my ribs. Both cans slip my grasp. One of them lands on my foot and rolls away. The woman chases after it.

A blow lands on the metal shelf to my right. Instinctively, I turn around to face my attacker and put my hand up to shield my right side. Stabbing pain explodes where my left ear is. Things I can’t see spin out of control. I try to grab a hold of a shelf to steady myself, but I realise I’m falling moments before I hit the floor. My ear is buzzing. A kick lands between my armpit and my chest. My hand is trying to find its way to my pocket, to my gun, but fails. I can’t even co-ordinate with my hand to draw my knife. Up and down, left and right, all spin out of control. “Don’t make me kill—” Sharp pain flares up at the side of my jaw.

Then blackness and nothingness.

I wake up stiff. Pain knifes my upper right arm, and my head near my left ear stings. When I touch it, my fingers are coated wet. It takes me a minute to figure things out. It’s blood. I’m alone in the store. My mind pieces together what happened earlier, and my hand reaches for the gun in my pocket. If they took it, I’m as good as dead. I’ll have nothing to trade for and nothing to protect myself with.

The metal handle in my pocket sets my speeding heart at ease. And my knife is still with me. They didn’t search me. They just beat me up and left.

The air smells of sodden earth and humidity. It’s raining outside. I don’t know how long I’ve been out for, but the storm has caught up with me. A gust of wet wind makes me shiver. I blow one hot breath after the other in my hands, but it’s not enough. I need food, water, and warmth.

A few steps away, I stumble on a plastic bottle. It has a bubblegum smell and flavour to it—some kind of soft drink—and the bottle is half empty, but I gulp it down. Near the open door of what must have been the store’s fridge, I find a carton of milk. It’s warm, but it doesn’t smell bad yet. I drink as much of it as I can, and take the rest with me. I’ll need it for later, until I can find some water.

Lightning strikes outside and makes the empty shelves and what little remains of the store’s windows to rattle. If it glows, it kills, the couple said. It’s impossible. It has to be. Light doesn’t change all of the sudden. It’s the sun, damn it. It has stayed the same for billions of years. Stellar bodies don’t change their behaviour out of the blue. Those two were either wrong, or the emergency broadcast got things wrong. Besides, no one else mentioned anything about light being lethal.

The wind blows through the shattered store front. I need to stay warm. I need a fire.

---

CHOOSE YOUR DESTINY, SURVIVOR.
You are cold and it’s raining outside. You haven’t eaten anything in days and you’ve taken a beating. If you stay in cold and wet conditions, you might catch something that your character may or may not be able to deal with later. On the other hand, if the couple your character ran into earlier told the truth, then lighting a fire may be lethal. One answer leads to your character’s death. The other prolongs your torment. Choose wisely.

                             

 

---

“>