Running With Ghosts (H2OVanoss)

Chapter 2

Song: G-Eazy & Bebe Rexha - Me, Myself, & I

The tower was all quiet. It was still in the early morning hours inside the hospital. Only the doctors and volunteer staff were softly stepping through the halls to begin another day of surviving.

Over the past month, the number of lost and found human beings that were brought in from the ruins of the city had decreased significantly. For a week straight, Jonathan brought back supplies and stragglers that needed a place to stay. The population increased within the tower and the thirty floors accommodated them all comfortably. But after that week, they stopped seeing people come in, maybe one or two, but natural selection seemed to be running it's course until there was no one else left to find.

They didn't really know what to call the creatures of the night, but somehow 'screamers' started to stick and it was sort of common sense. Because when the sun went down, the screams echoed through the small, winding, desolate streets. The screamers came out and any chance they had of sleeping soundly went out the window. The defenders, as they liked to call themselves, stayed on the bottom floors once they had moved all the sick and wounded up a few floors as not to draw in the screamers from the smell of blood.

The defenders consisted of the most willing women and men, a few in their late teens. There were only about ten of them all together but they kept patrols going on the bottom floor and outside the building along the wall they'd built over the past few weeks. The second floor housed their bunks and all the excess weapons they'd accumulated thanks to Jonathan bringing them back with him whenever his bags were full. Rations were handed out daily and medicine was still in stock, but running low.

They had created a system of sorts, or better yet, Jonathan had. He was the mastermind behind it all and they followed him without questions. It just fell into place that he was leading them even though he refused to be called the man in charge. Either way, he was respected even though they didn't even know his name or what he looked like behind that mask he always wore.

He rarely spoke, but when he did he was very hush hush and alone in a corner with Marcel or Lui, sometimes David. Even then, no one knew his name, but they trusted his judgement and did as he asked. They moved the wounded up a few floors when he said to, they set up rations, built a perimeter, distributed clothes. All because he was the lone runner keeping them alive.

And as much work as he did, as much running as he did, he never stopped. He had set up drop zones just outside the hospital on top of buildings and the defenders inside would collect the supplies that he dropped off.

He came inside the tower very seldom, only to shower the dirt and blood from his skin and clean his clothes, or to communicate with one of the guys. He left just as quick, leaving everyone wondering even more who he really was. They revered him because he was a mystery.

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The wounded were recovering, slowly getting back on their feet and joining society on the upper floors. Except for one and he came crashing out of his room, swinging his arms, yelling, heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

David came around the corner to find his assistant Brock tangled up with the man who'd been in a medically induced coma for the past month. Cat, as they liked to refer to him as since no one knew his name, they went off the shirt he'd been wearing when they brought him in. He'd broken his legs and in order to avoid confusion and disorder that they didn't have time for, David made the decision to keep him under until he healed properly. His legs healed a week and a half ago, but the fractured ribs were still healing, the bruises were still visible on his tan physique. The gash on his head had been well tended to before he'd been brought in, all that was left now was a pretty scar on his right temple.