Satanic Nightjar
reach for the stars and don't settle for the moon
March 17, 11:05 A.M.
It was a miracle that he heard it.
A.J. Dawn was cruising down the empty highway in a minivan, with absolutely no regard for the speed limit (who was going to hit him anyways?). The road was cracked from months of disuse, cars broken down on the sides of roads with their owners long gone, and the leaves that had been lost during the long winter hadn't fully returned yet. He was blasting music over the halfway-broken radio of his vehicle, some age-old rock song that he knew bits and pieces of but would never stoop so low as to sing along to.
The reason he was even out in the first place, he told himself, was because he was running low on food. In reality, it could have lasted another week, but cabin fever had really begun to set in. He subconsciously shook his head at himself - look at him, missing other people's company. What had this catastrophe done to him?
The store was to the left of the highway, and he turned sharply, imagining that if he'd been in a movie the tires would have squealed obnoxiously for dramatic effect - instead, they kept quiet, as if even they knew that now was a time for silence. As A.J slid into a parking spot (right in front of the doors, one of the only perks to being immersed in the worst pandemic in history), he reached out his right arm and grabbed a gas mask, strapped it to his face out of habit - just in case, just in case - and then ran his fingers over the handgun in the pocket of his tight jeans - just in case, just in case. He swung the car door open. Chilly air rushed out at him. More silence.
He could hear his breathing as he walked through the store, shoulders tensed, ears alert and waiting for any sign of danger. He'd come here countless times over the months that had passed, but still refused to let his guard down. That's how you got killed. Asher Dawn wasn't the type to get himself killed in such a pathetic way.
The aisles had long ago been pillaged, some shelves left bare, others better stocked than they had been in normal times. No one had come here in a long time, though, and A.J had been careful to ration its supplies, making them last as long as possible. His hand was outstretched, grabbing a bottle of water, when something caused him to freeze. Looking back, it must have been a sound, though barely audible, so that he didn't really hear it, only sensed that there had been something to hear.
He was no longer alone.
"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, before blinking and shaking his head at his own stupidity. Yeah, make some more noise, why don't you?
He deposited the water into his backpack and pulled out his gun, cocked it, finger on trigger, pointed forwards. Ready.
A.J tried to quiet his breathing, but his heart pounded so loudly that surely it was pointless. He came to the end of the aisle, heard the noise again. A voice. A woman? No. Not that human. The voice of a creature who was once a woman, but had long ago descended from humanity. One of Them.
Backing away. Backing away slowly, step by step, and he was at the door, he was safe, and then-
A strangled scream pierced the air, and a form hurtled from around the nearest aisle into sight, the smell following, like rotten flesh and dried blood, it's disfigured limbs carrying it forward at what seemed to him like the speed of light.
"FUCK!" He yelled, firing the gun once, carelessly, too panicked to aim right, scrambling towards the car, throwing open the door, and then he was inside, and it was shut, in reverse, GO GODDAMMIT GO, now speeding away, until the figure was too far gone to see even in the rear-view mirror. And only now, even though it had been months since the beginning of this mess, did A.J realize how very alone he was.
He turned his attention, for the first time fully, to the radio, still blaring, cutting through static..
"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.."
The message finished before he swallowed hard, shook his head in disbelief at himself, then cleared his throat.
"I'm comin', Thomas. I'm comin'."
It was a miracle that he heard it.
A.J. Dawn was cruising down the empty highway in a minivan, with absolutely no regard for the speed limit (who was going to hit him anyways?). The road was cracked from months of disuse, cars broken down on the sides of roads with their owners long gone, and the leaves that had been lost during the long winter hadn't fully returned yet. He was blasting music over the halfway-broken radio of his vehicle, some age-old rock song that he knew bits and pieces of but would never stoop so low as to sing along to.
The reason he was even out in the first place, he told himself, was because he was running low on food. In reality, it could have lasted another week, but cabin fever had really begun to set in. He subconsciously shook his head at himself - look at him, missing other people's company. What had this catastrophe done to him?
The store was to the left of the highway, and he turned sharply, imagining that if he'd been in a movie the tires would have squealed obnoxiously for dramatic effect - instead, they kept quiet, as if even they knew that now was a time for silence. As A.J slid into a parking spot (right in front of the doors, one of the only perks to being immersed in the worst pandemic in history), he reached out his right arm and grabbed a gas mask, strapped it to his face out of habit - just in case, just in case - and then ran his fingers over the handgun in the pocket of his tight jeans - just in case, just in case. He swung the car door open. Chilly air rushed out at him. More silence.
He could hear his breathing as he walked through the store, shoulders tensed, ears alert and waiting for any sign of danger. He'd come here countless times over the months that had passed, but still refused to let his guard down. That's how you got killed. Asher Dawn wasn't the type to get himself killed in such a pathetic way.
The aisles had long ago been pillaged, some shelves left bare, others better stocked than they had been in normal times. No one had come here in a long time, though, and A.J had been careful to ration its supplies, making them last as long as possible. His hand was outstretched, grabbing a bottle of water, when something caused him to freeze. Looking back, it must have been a sound, though barely audible, so that he didn't really hear it, only sensed that there had been something to hear.
He was no longer alone.
"Shit, shit, shit," he whispered, before blinking and shaking his head at his own stupidity. Yeah, make some more noise, why don't you?
He deposited the water into his backpack and pulled out his gun, cocked it, finger on trigger, pointed forwards. Ready.
A.J tried to quiet his breathing, but his heart pounded so loudly that surely it was pointless. He came to the end of the aisle, heard the noise again. A voice. A woman? No. Not that human. The voice of a creature who was once a woman, but had long ago descended from humanity. One of Them.
Backing away. Backing away slowly, step by step, and he was at the door, he was safe, and then-
A strangled scream pierced the air, and a form hurtled from around the nearest aisle into sight, the smell following, like rotten flesh and dried blood, it's disfigured limbs carrying it forward at what seemed to him like the speed of light.
"FUCK!" He yelled, firing the gun once, carelessly, too panicked to aim right, scrambling towards the car, throwing open the door, and then he was inside, and it was shut, in reverse, GO GODDAMMIT GO, now speeding away, until the figure was too far gone to see even in the rear-view mirror. And only now, even though it had been months since the beginning of this mess, did A.J realize how very alone he was.
He turned his attention, for the first time fully, to the radio, still blaring, cutting through static..
"This is Thomas Harvey, transmitting from outpost 17 in Ohio. If there's anyone out there, please respond. I repeat, if there's anyone out there, please respond.."
The message finished before he swallowed hard, shook his head in disbelief at himself, then cleared his throat.
"I'm comin', Thomas. I'm comin'."