Population 738

Prologue

The town of Ankler, Montana is a cliché small town with a population of about 700 people. Some would say that everybody knows everybody, but I don't think that can be the case. Not with what's been happening recently, at least.

The population of 738 is continuing to dwindle down.

People here have been dropping like flies. That's probably an inconsiderate way to put it, but that's the best euphemism I have.

In the beginning of the year, the population was 794. It's only February.

Some die from seemingly natural causes; diseases, old age. But others have not. Others who have ended up in the morgue were only the age of 23 with a clean bill of health from their doctors not even a month prior.

That was my sister, of course. Malorie was a happy girl, freshly out of college with a degree in English. She aspired to be a writer of children's books, but her life was cut too short for that to happen. It was so sudden.

One day she was there and the next day she wasn't. We got the call on the 4th of January, her fiancé screaming hysterically on the other end of the line and saying that Mal wouldn't wake up. It was horrible, it is horrible, but what's worse is the pandemic of fear infesting the city. No one knows who's next, no one knows what the cause is.

Half the people I know have started to plan their move out of the town. They cease to drink the tap water in fear of the unknown disease lurking in it. They refuse to dig holes to plant their gardens in fear it's in the soil. They stay inside when it rains in case possible air pollution comes down with it.

No one can pin down exactly what is happening but we all know that something is. I do the autopsies on the bodies and even I still cannot understand it. I can't wrap my head around it.

Death is everywhere, and there's no way to stop it.