Forerunner

Forerunner Ch. 2

A huge tremor rocked the apartment’s foundation. A blast, a wave of heat. Elise awoke lying sprawled on the cold cement floor, the room completely dark. A flare of light rose up just outside her window; another tremor. Screams, and lots of them.

She scrambled to her feet and gazed out of the window in horror. Down in LaHaye Square, hundreds of people had gathered. They were rioting, stirred up from the bombing earlier. Riot police surged forward, shields held high, blocking the debris the civilians threw at them. Their body armor and helmets were completely black, their faces obscured by gas masks.

They rushed the people, toppling over a group of young men angrily demanding the release of the remaining women that had been escorted far away from the chaos.

Someone threw tear gas.

More screams, the crowd scattering. A fire truck rolled up and let loose a concentrated spray right into the throng, sending many flying. People were being trampled.

The riot police pushed forward. A man stepped out to pepper spray a shouting rioter who was resisting. Another rebel jumped on his back and began grappling for the spray can, clawing at the police’s face, trying to rip his gas mask off. They were swiftly dealt with by means of tasers.

Suddenly an object whizzed through the air, striking the building she was in. It exploded, sending a plume of fire and dark smoke into the air, rocking the building. Bombs.

Glass shattered somewhere near the bottom of the building. People were running into the streets, abandoning their homes. Someone yelled about a fire.

Elise panicked. She needed to get out. She ran to the exit and into the hall, the screams from below building to a deafening crescendo. Smoke obscured her vision; dark shapes loomed behind the veil. She coughed horribly, her lungs filling with the acrid stench of burning wood and paper. She dropped to the ground, eyes stinging.

You need to get out or you’ll suffocate, she thought to herself frantically.

She commando-crawled forward, feeling around for the banister to head downstairs. She needed to hurry or the whole building would collapse atop her. It was a rundown place, termite-ridden and almost unfit to live in, and wouldn’t hold up for long.

Scrambling forward, unable to see, she finally grasped the handrail of the stairs.

Downstairs a loud snap split the only sound of crackling fire; the door being bashed in. Shouts rose from below, but this time they didn’t seem afraid. They were shouting commands.

 Firefighters were streaming into the building, presumably searching for people trapped inside.

Suddenly she forgot the danger of fire, forgot the pain in her chest and the stinging in her eyes. They’d surely find her here, capture her, and send her back to GeneTech. She would be in trouble beyond belief for escaping. She would be a prisoner once again.

Crawling forward, feeling the heat growing in front of her, she bypassed the stairs. She knew there was a long, steel pipe running down the side of the building. She could climb down it.

She felt her way down the hall, her hands running over splintered wood, little cuts forming on the tips of her fingers. She pushed on blindly, her chest heaving. The voices grew louder over the roar of the fire and distant screaming below, urging her on.

She finally made it to the end of the hall when loud footsteps pounded up the stairs, deep male voices calling out. They entered the hall, began systematically checking all of the rooms. She screamed uncontrollably before she could stop herself, the sudden fear of recapture, the thick air laced with poisonous fumes, and the heat from the fire too much sensory overload. She hyperventilated; gulped in lungfuls of the bitter smoke. She began to feel lightheaded, dizzy. Nausea overtook her.