Mara's heart raced as she knelt low on the unsteady platform. Below, the city resembled a wasteland of broken glass, wrecked engines, and floating smoke. Screams rose up from the streets, a cruel reminder that the sector she knew had been snatched away.
Mara took a deep breath, keeping her composure. The platform supported her weight but felt unsteady, moving gently in the breeze. She squatted and closed her eyes for a second, allowing an extraordinary tranquility to settle over her. It was something she had never seen before: her mind cleared in a crisis, intuition honing every detail until all that mattered was her next move. Her father would have referred to it as survivor's intuition, which he had pounded into her every weekend in the backyard.
An unusual sounds from beneath piqued her interest: a grinding metal groan. She opened her eyes and scanned the alley. A loose panel on the platform poked out, barely adhering to its hinges. Her heartbeat skipped. If it fell, the crash would attract attention she did not need.
However, something else caught her attention. She appeared to look past the platform's aspect, down to the street, where the sick wandered aimlessly, their hollow eyes tracking nonexistent paths. Her chest clenched as she took in the forms of a mother and her young child, clinging to one other in an achingly human way. However, their eyes were vacant, their pores and skin were faded and taut, and their heads were tilted abnormally.
Mara halted as a horrible ache tightened her throat. She saw her mother's face, warm and full of laughter, and her younger sister, Lucy, clutching her mother's hand, her face shining with life. Now, inside the twisted shadows underneath, she saw them in this useless pair. An icy clear up strengthened her backbone and grounded her. Her family had dispersed, but she remained. She needed to keep shifting, even if it was only for their benefit.
Dad often said that the key rule of survival is to keep moving. Her father's voice resonated in her head, unwavering and certain. I had no clue I would have to use his training in this way.
With another steadying breath, she looked up, scanning the skyline for a way forward. Every other building's ledge was within leaping reach of her, but the hole had grown to be massive. She ran her fingertips down the station rail, a rusting reminder of what lay beneath. She had spent years ignoring her father's rigorous survival training, wondering if it had simply made her stand out from the crowd. They now felt as if they were the most important reason she was living.
She took steps lower back before releasing ahead. The wind tore past her as she jumped, her frame moving only on intuition. She reached out, her fingertips catching the hard concrete of the opposite ledge, and swung her body up, sliding onto the rooftop. Her shoulder ached, but she didn't notice because her machine was releasing adrenaline.
Mara rested on her back, recovering her breath and observing her surroundings. The rooftop had become bare, but for a few scattered pipes and a massive, rusting vent. She felt the worn leather-bound journal in her pocket and pulled it out, flipping over the pages that had become her lifeline. The lines danced on the page, almost as if responding to her touch, and she or he read them with trepidation: the ones who grin are already ineffective.
The kick back that ran down her backbone became evident. She remembered David Chen's creepy, unnatural smile when he crashed through her door only hours before. Before she drove her knife through his temple, all she could see was his smile. Her gut tightened as she recalled the incident.
The notebook was correct once, taking her beyond perils she hadn't foreseen and revealing paths she couldn't understand. She couldn't forget about it anymore.
A scrapping sound resonated from behind her. She bolted upright, pulse pounding and eyes sweeping the rooftop. It was quiet for a second, then she observed motion through a damaged window on the neighboring rooftop: black individuals in military uniforms moving with strange, frightening coordination.
She squatted and looked through the broken glass at the troops' formation. Their faces were masked by helmets, but as one became visible, she caught a glimpse of something that froze her in place: a tight, unnatural twist of his lips into a smile chillingly similar to the one David had worn. Her breath caught in her throat.
People who grin are already useless.
Her instincts told her to keep hidden, but she couldn't look away. She hadn't expecting squaddies, especially ones that appeared heated. What did they do? Who have they been following?
Mara dived low, pulse pounding, as she saw the infantrymen withdraw into the surrounding buildings. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she tried to piece together what she had seen. Were they infected in the same way as the others, but somehow unique? Smarter? Organized? The journal's warning lingered in her memory, but it offered no explanation. She knew they had been looking. And she or he got the sickening impression that their aim had become hers.
She stuffed the diary back into her pocket and surveyed the roof. She had to get out of here quickly. The fireplace escape on the far side of the building appeared to be her best option, but it was discovered. If they found her, she'd be a clear target.
As she approached it, she couldn't shake the strange, eerie stillness that had taken hold of her. She knew that turning anxiety into reasoning would keep her bright and aware. But in that moment, the quiet transformed into what she needed. It was as if a switch had been flipped, one she had never realized she had. Her father had correctly schooled her, and as she moved, she sensed his instructions guiding her.
She reached the fire escape and began her descent, keeping each step as silent as possible. Her gaze flashed across the alley below, searching for any signs of movement. The infected clogged the roadway, shuffling in random loops, their bodies deformed, pores and skin stretched tight over empty bones.
A loud, scared cry burst out halfway down the fireplace escape, echoing around the alley. She froze, looking all the way down to see a young woman walking across the street, cradling a small infant in her clutches. However, something went wrong. The child's face twisted into an evil smile, the same expression that haunted Mara's thoughts.
The lady tripped, her eyes wide with panic, and Mara's heart ached from the horrible memories of her circle of kin. She needed to appear away, suppressing the impulse to jump down and interfere. She couldn't store them. She had a vague idea of whether she wanted to save herself.
A piercing whistle cut through the clamor, and Mara's gaze shifted to the front where every other person in navy blue stood, beaming that lifeless, soulless smile. He raised his hand, and the heated appeared to respond by turning toward him like animals to a clutch. Mara's pores and skin crawled, her mind racing with the ramifications.
The soldier lifted his gaze, and for the second time, their eyes locked. Mara shrank back, her breath seizing; unfortunately, it was too late. He'd seen her. She could sense it in the way his eyes lingered before he motioned to his squad, signaling her direction.
A rush of panic struck her, but with it came an astonishing, constant calm that allowed her to think clearly. She pushed herself to walk faster, down the last few rungs of the fire escape before darting into a nearby alley. Her body moved only on muscle memory, with superb reflexes leading her through the maze of disintegrating buildings.
A distant explosion shook the earth, sending a sparking wave of panic through the infected, who scattered, stumbling and shuffling in all directions. Mara took advantage of the confusion, sneaking through shadows and hugging the walls as she moved deeper into the city's ruins.
The journal's phrases surged in her mind, spurring her on: keep changing.
A narrow path emerged between homes, and she slid through it, her mind racing. Where should she cross? Was there still a safe spot left? Each step seemed to pull her deeper into a nightmare that denied sound judgment, yet her simple solution cemented. She would not stop. She'd find a way out, and if this became her new reality, she'd figure out how to endure.
Her breath came in rapid gasps, and her muscles ached as she pushed herself harder. She'd lost track of time, and her feeling had devolved into intuition on my part, until a dull glow caught her eye up ahead, a flickering light, heat, and welcome. A light in the darkness.
She approached it without thinking twice, her heart racing with equal parts desire and horror. The mild led her to a slender basement front, which was hardly visible beneath a mound of trash. She ducked inside, closing the door behind her because footsteps echoed down the lane.
Within the dark glow of a single candle, she took in her surroundings, a tight room cluttered with discarded items and the faint odor of smoke. Comfort flooded over her, only to be broken when a shadow slid into the nook, and she or he froze.
A parent walked forward, eyes flashing in the low light and a twisted smile on his face.
"Welcome, Mara," he said, his voice low and hollow. "We've been awaiting you."
Her blood raced cold as the magazine's final warning burned in her mind, the lines repeating like a death sentence: those who grin are alr
eady dead.
The candle flickered out, dropping her into darkness.