The jarring sound splintered the fragile silence, pulling the girl from her half-sleep. Her eyelids flickered open, showing a pair of worn eyes that latched onto the figure of a dog almost in an instant. It was standing still yet watchful, staring piercingly with pain and longing.
It had deep scars, its fur tangled with dried blood, and its leg quivering under the weight. A soft whimper escaped its throat, as if some tormenting thought, though unsaid, pleaded for relief from within its throat.
She began to do so but her instincts overruled hesitation. She stretched out a hand, hesitant, yet soft, that touched his head. A silence followed while she softly rubbed her fingers through his fur, calming for both of them. Companionship, in a small way, was born that moment as the dog began to lean into her hand, his wariness slowly dissolving.
And in that elongated period of time, it had grown thicker between them. Together, they crossed the desolate expanse toward the lot of the airport, bodies of men-some soldiers, others police-scattered over the place. Their wide stares said more than their voices ever could of how fast everything had spiraled out of hand. She just walked on, not looking into the open gaze of yet another life lost.
They came onto the ruined tarmac of the airport, where one aircraft stood-or rather, a shattered fragment of what it once had been: twisted metal, like some broken skeleton, its carcass laid bare to the elements. The girl and the dog went inside, making their way with care through the wreckage.
Inside, the reek of rotting came to them. The view was no less gruesome: dead bodies slumped against chairs, blood spattered through the walls in grotesque patternings. Though the stench had gone with the time, the air carried an acrid tang of iron and death.
She moved slowly, opening one of the overhead lockers. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes dimmed with grief. Amidst the debris, lay a tiny body-a baby, its form fragile and lifeless-nestled in a grotesque pool of coagulated blood. The woman closed her eyes, blowing out as if to release the weight that pressed upon her chest.
She wheeled and went toward another locker. In the next instant, a shriek tore through the quiet. It was impossible to bear; it seemed as though her eardrums were being ripped apart by iron talons. She whirled about, hand automatically racing to her pistol. She waited and listened hard, eyes open. A split-second later, the sound came again.
The path of the bullet had ended in the body of the baby. Shuddering, she shakily gazed through at that lifeless figure. Her face flickered among torment and resolution. Turning away, she was thrust into continued searching.
Her diligence was paid off with several bottles of water and some sort of edible provisions. She turned the bottles over in her hands closely before slumping her shoulders in a sigh of relief to declare that they were safe. With her findings packed, she moved forward toward the cockpit.
The pilots' fate was evident—one slumped over the controls, a bullet wound to his temple, the other lifeless in his seat. A handgun rested in the captain's limp grasp, while a bloodstained note was clenched in his other hand. The girl unfolded it carefully.
Her lips had pressed into a thin line as she tucked the note away. A low growl from the dog drew her attention. It had fallen, its body wracked by spasms, froth bubbling at its mouth.
She dropped to her knees beside him, her hand stroking once more over his fur, her eyes softening even as the grip on the pistol never wavered. A single shot echoed across the hollow remains of the aircraft.
She silently, and all along, reached the tail part with her gait at measured slowness and sure. She reappeared when the sun started to show from over the wasteland as an orange glow in its meridian.
She pulled from her pack the fur of the dog and tied around her face a mask to protect her, then set out once more. Directly before them an encampment military-but in ruins and shrouded in shadow-laid.
Inside, it was worse: the bodies lay all over, piled on each other, the smell of death heavy in the air. She kept moving, boots crunching over rubble, until she came to the armory; a body hung from the rafters there. Without ceremony, she pulled it down-the crash of the falling wood echoed through the room.
Her search revealed an arsenal that even included a sniper rifle. The cumbersome gear needed improvisation; she managed by rope, using a severed arm as counterweight to drag the rifle.
She also came upon the meeting hall that contained a chalkboard upon which there were scrawled words :
Final Danger Zone.
Nuclear strike scheduled for January 15, 2030.
Estimated total casualty rate: 100%.
The girl read on it
She picked up scattered letters lying around her, putting together fragments of the grim history of the camp. Whispers of a cure, debates over escape routes, and the grim reality of annihilation filled their pages.
She steeled herself, stepping out when the first light of dawn painted the sky. She yawned then-a moment of weakness showing her exhaustion-but whole again, her feet trudged on in resolution.