It Started

Smoke billowed from my lips, a cigarette that was nearly burned up between my callused fingers. A sense of wonder overtook me as I started out the window into a city filled with people — individuals who struggled, who fought, who lied, but also who paid for the next person in line, who handed money out to strangers on the street for nothing in return. Someone had probably just died alone, somewhere slightly out of my eyesight, and wouldn't be found for weeks.

Someone else had met the love of their life — and another met the "love of their life" that would murder them one day.

Me? I watched. Far away, tucked into my lone apartment with a cigarette that might choke out the last of our oxygen — or, at least, give me a terminal illness. As the last of my cancer stick turned to ash, I was finally forced to snub it out on a sloppily made ceramic ashtray that teetered ominously on the steel window frame I always confidently set it on. Thoughts of disease and death stayed with me as the remains of at least two different cigarette packs slopped around in the tray but just barely didn't spill, not even a grain — a skill that was a testament to my routine.

I leaned my shoulder back against a menacingly large crack in the wall. A siren shrilled off in the distance. Ideas seam into my head, the possibilities of where they were going. Who had called? Was someone hurt — was someone dead? An ambulance, by the sound of it, was responding but who was in it? Were they new, or was this their last call after years of saving lives? Then bright, flashing blue and red lights headed in the same direction I would swear the siren had been going. Another, and another, the whine of sirens filled the night.

Frowning, I pulled out my phone to see if there was something in the news — maybe a bad traffic wreck? Just as I was about to turn the device on, it lit up the darkness of my room and vibrated violently in my hands. The screech of the EAS tone made a twinge of a headache bloom, my eyes struggling to focus on the words because of the sensory overload those damn speakers made. It took a minute for me to be able to read anything on the bright screen, but when I did my stomach dropped.

"EMERGENCY ALERT: EXTREME
An unknown virus is causing rampant aggression in infected individuals.
Stay inside, lock all doors and windows, do not let anyone into your
home."

Just as I finished reading the message, I looked back out at the city. A fire had cropped up two streets away at a bagel bar I had been at earlier this morning, before I'd gone to bed.

Hoards of people now littered the streets. Their yells filled the air — some begged for help, others screamed in pure agony as they were circled and mauled. Chills raced up my spine and my mouth dried out. I had no idea what to do — what could I even do? I weighed slightly south of two hundred pounds, no muscle, and I was a mere twenty years old.

While I tried to do the mental gymnastics required to figure out what the hell to do, my choice was taken from me. An explosion ripped through the neighborhood, but I didn't have time to figure out where it came from. Before I could process anything, my window shattered and sent glass into my face. My voice joined the screams of the masses that surrounded my apartment complex.

Dust and ash filled my room, leaving me forced to cough and gag on it. Something groaned and creaked ominously, but I was blinded to what was out there. While I searched for something to cover my mouth, the sound got closer and closer. I glanced at my window only to notice the hotel from across the street now had an ominous lean to it, headed towards me.

"Shit..."