End of Death (manxman)

Fall of Civilization: Part 1 - Smoke in the air

Milo coughed awake. His head throbbed. He was on his back.

Where am I?

It was claustrophobic, dim, and eerily quiet. What's going on? A weight rested on top of him— he tried to shove it off, and pain shot down his leg. He was strapped to whatever covered him. Pill bottles, syringes, plastic gloves, littered the space around him. Above him, metal cabinets hung open, empty except for a lone piece of gauze caught on the hinge. The only light filtered in through two small, vertically aligned windows on a set of doors: that was his exit.

Shifting around, he pushed the medical supplies aside. He kicked his leg free and crawled towards the door, his arm stretched forward to twist the handle. The door fell open suddenly. The harsh light of day made him wince, but finally, he could breath.

He spilled out onto the asphalt coughing. The air was sour with ash and a smoky haze.

Closing his eyes, he tried to center himself. His ears rang. He forced himself to look around. On its side, behind him, was the ambulance he'd fallen out of. Around him, green canvas tents rustled and a military grade hummer to his right was riddled with bullet holes. He started shaking.

Am I in a warzone? Milo had no idea how he got here. The last thing he remembered was his mom crying on the couch. Terrorists?

His breath quickened and he couldn't slow it down. But Milo had been here before, this nervous state. He dug into his pocket, feeling for his bottle of pills. When his fingers touched the plastic, relief washed over him. Pulling it out, he tried to unscrew the cap.

His hand fumbled from shaking, the panic attack was consuming him. Milo knelt down and reached for the pill bottle, he couldn't stand up. It suddenly hit him how much his body hurt and his nerves only made movement harder.

He finally got the bottle open, but his hands were shaking too bad and the bottle slipped, its contents spilling out onto the asphalt.

"Fuck." He snatched up one of the precious white pills and popped it into his mouth. Dry swallowing sucked, but Milo had no other option. Crawling along the ground, he carefully picked up each pill he could find, slowly refilling his bottle.

Reaching for the next pill, Milo found it in a puddle of crimson. Is that blood? He leapt to his feet, eyes wide. "Shit!"

The drying blood led into one of the military tents in front of Milo. His body moved without thought to the tent. Freezing, he spotted a woman lying prone on a cot. He recognized her from the bright red bun of hair— his biology teacher. She had been shot. Through the fabric of the cot, blood slowly dripped from the back of her head and formed a puddle on the ground.

Who shot her? Milo quickly ducked down, picturing a wandering terrorist soldier shooting up the area. Suddenly alert, he crawled between two crates lining the edge of the tent. Now in full anxiety mode, he couldn't stop shaking. Where is the shooter? He kept expecting to hear more shots, screams, and shouting but there was nothing.

Still clutching his pill bottle, he popped two into his mouth. The pills took effect quickly, easing him out of his anxiety. I need to get the fuck out of here! But where the hell am I?

Taking a deep breath for courage, Milo peeked out to scan his surroundings. He finally realized where he was: his high school's parking lot. Suddenly, the school felt like a safer place than any. He would keep low, dash for the front doors, and hopefully find cover from whoever had murdered his teacher.

Crouching as he ran, Milo spotted a large tent with a Red Cross logo embroidered on its side. He had to swerve around another ambulance, this one upright. The stairs up to the main entrance of the school were directly in front of him, only a military grade hummer riddled with bullet holes stood in his way. The holes in the thick metal gave Milo pause, but he quickly picked up his pace and squeezed by. Finally at the foot of the steps, Milo craned his head back for fear that someone would be following him. There was no one.