The front wall blasted into shreds. The smoke and flames rolled in, clouding the lobby with dust and the leaning sun filled the room with a hot yellow-orange light. Iggy flung himself up five stairs at a time. After reaching the top stair, he ducked down and flew around the first corner, cowering beneath his forearms.
The house alarms howled, but he could hardly hear them. The only sound that he could hear was the cruel scream bellowing out of Nansen from the downstairs lobby. His voice broke, but still desperately fought through the last few moments of life as the sun rays fried him viciously, much like oil does to meat, incinerating him through his skin and muscle until nothing viable was left and the Nansen Iggy had always known and loved was gone.
A platoon of masked soldiers in green and brown camouflage, armored head to toe, piled into the house and spread through the first floor like an infestation. They had fully stocked utility belts holding ammunition, small hand pistols, serrated blades and automatic rifles in their gloved hands.
Iggy leant forward onto his shaking arms to peek around the corner, and in return a barrage of bullets shot through the air and popped pieces out of the wall all around his head. He couldn't stay there, but he sure couldn't make it across the sun filled hallway to the other side where Baine's bedroom was, so he raced toward his own room. He burst through the door and slammed it shut behind himself.
The bed was disorderly, the light in the bathroom was on, and the closet door was shut. "Emi?!" he searched for her. She was near, he knew it. He glanced inside of the bathroom, then retreated to the dark closet. Hangers were strewn out of order along his side of the closet and his only other white uniform was missing. He ducked underneath the clothing racks searching for her there to no avail.
The bedroom door flung open and crashed against the wall as a team of four invaded his sanctuary. He reached his hand out for the closet door knob to shut it, but it ricocheted back into his knuckles. Through the doorway it was obvious by the sunlight pouring into the room that they'd drawn open the curtains.
The four invaders surrounded his only exit. They appeared like black shadows entering through a portal as they circled around him and the tips of their guns came within three inches of him. The man behind the first barrel growled behind his mask, "get on your knees, or you won't have a face."
Iggy's chest filled with air and blood. He bent his knees and came onto the floor. His arms lined the sides of his body and chest, his head lowered, and his shoulders hunched upwards. The clean metal barrel pointed directly at his nose. He could smell the gunpowder.
"What's your name?"
"I… Ig.... gy."
"Iggy?"
He nodded once and their rigid stances flexed even more.
That's when he felt his entire body freeze, even while sweat trickled down his cheeks hot. He could already feel the heat from the sun, too. His hands and forearms tightened, as if his skin was being stretched around his swelling muscles and bones. The color red glowed in his peripheral, framing his vision.
A small snap-pop in his head and the world all around him slowed down right before his eyes. The soldiers at his sides and in front of him seemed to be decorative more than anything else now, for they moved slowly, swaying with each breath like seaweed dancing in the bottom of the lake. Their words were so deep in tone and long that Iggy couldn't understand them.
A thin trail of smoke floated up from the floor. Although the motions between water and smoke are similar, in this dream-like state even the gases moved with such fluidity that it was impossible to know exactly that it was what it was. It danced.
The pungent smell of burning rubber and hair filled his nostrils. He looked down at his hand planted on the floor. Flames burned along his skin, coming out from beneath his palms and incinerating the carpet. Fire. Real fire. He could feel the heat, but not in a painful way, and if it was the sun doing it, then he didn't feel so bad for Nansen anymore.
A bright flash of flame purged forth a bullet through the barrel of the gun and straight into Iggy's forehead. As his head whipped backward, he saw two black eyes staring at him from the brightly lit bathroom across the room. That was all that he could see. Her black eyes watched the scene with horror. The edges were sharp, the whites were red, as only terror could do.
Iggy didn't blame her for staying put, either.
Another slam into his forehead and he collapsed onto the ground. Blood leaked from his head, across his eyes, and puddled on the floor around his face. "His eyes are still open, Sarge," someone said. Through Iggy's back, a blast of bullets shredded holes into his lungs and he started to drown from the inside out. He coughed and blood spattered through his teeth. His vision blurred. It pulsated. His heart struggled. His mind was fading. And then, everything disappeared.
The rocking and swaying were the first things he felt again after the bullets dislodged themselves from his brain, lungs, and heart. The virus was no joke. It could save anyone from death.
He found himself laid on the floor of a dark box truck. Freezing metal vibrated against his face, rumbling and moving up and down, sometimes bouncing his head. The air smelled like raw blood, fresh gunpowder, and fresh leaves. The fresh leaf scent was breezing through the crack in the back door. He could hear a slow clutter of weak heartbeats, struggling amongst two others that were still strong. He wasn't alone, but he couldn't see anything but the dirty floor in front of his face. Barely, he found the strength to lift his gaze upward, and as he did so, an insuppressible cough spewed a wad of coagulated blood out from his mouth.
With genuine disgust, one of the two guards howled from behind his mask, "ah! Nasty!"
A muffled laugh rolled out of the other guard's mask. "Come on, put him back to it."
A pig's grunt was the last thing that Iggy heard before another bullet shattered his freshly healed skull. Ringing noises took over. He couldn't feel his body, the temperature, or the wind anymore. He couldn't smell the strange combination of fresh leaves and metal, either. His vision vanished again, and he slipped back into the emptiness.