Cease the Second Kind

Chapter 1--In Media Res

2050 AD

Rain began to fall…  Hard.  Rain drops fell from the heavens in a heavy blanket that caused the endless expanse of prairie to glisten in the lowlight of the transition between evening and dusk.  The sky was a monotone gray blanket of rolling clouds, closely resembling the ebb and tide of the ocean. 

            The prairie was an elevated plot of ground many square miles large, and was in an incline that caused the rain water to flow into a deep watershed where, incidentally, a small dilapidated Wyoming town named Bathsheba, in honor of the Biblical narrative, would constantly stew in the runoff from the prairies.  Often the name of the town was shortened to Bath because of the incessant flooding.  The only way into the isolated town was a single road with only one lane going in and one out.

            A deep ditch was situated along the side of the road, the water pooling inside forming a muddy bath.  The water in the ditch was then disturbed by a partially submerged figure.  The figure was that of a teenage girl.  Her breathing was shallow, the rise and fall of her rib cage was slow and weak.  When the water was high enough to enter her mouth, she breathed in a considerable amount before being shocked awake.

            She retched on the water and coughed up muddy fluids mixed with blood.  Groggily she looked around; the surrounding fields were a hazy blur.  With what energy she had, she got up on her elbows and lay there, too weak to pull herself from the muddy bath. Her vision soon cleared and was able to determine where she was. The town off in the distance looked, to her, like a godsend.  After gathering her strength, she managed to army crawl weakly out of the ditch and plop her torso onto the sunbaked road.  Miraculously she stood on two feet and plodded forward on unsure feet, swaying left and right from a lack of definite balance.

            In what seemed like hours, she finally passed the sign which said in fading letters, “Welcome to Bathsheba,” with the “sheba” crossed through with red spray paint.  Below the name, an individual had taken the time to write out in red paint “chaos has been here,” which to any passerby would seem a clear warning that a terrible tragedy has swept through.  To emphasize the fact, the write was dead in front of the sign, a gouge in his skull.  From the girl’s perspective upon entering the quiet town, indeed chaos visited Bathsheba.  Every other window lining storefronts was shattered or spider-webbed, cars similarly smashed and dented inward, a few fresh corpses punctuated the sidewalks, and garbage strewn throughout the street.

            In her state, though, she didn’t seem to mind it, rather she ambled towards what was once a convenience store, the neon sign somehow managing to stay on, glowing a heavenly deep blue.  Like a moth to a flame she crossed the open threshold to the store and found a plastic chair and dropped onto it from exhaustion.  With the exception of the loud thrum of rain outside, everything was somberly silent.  She rested her throbbing head in her hands and groaned in pain, the first sound she made when waking up.

            Her memory was fogged, clearly suffering from post-traumatic amnesia.  This was confirmed when she felt a sore spot on the back of her skull and grimaced.  When strength found her she managed to reach the restroom across the store and walked inside.  She flipped on the lights and walked over to the mirror.  The sink faucet was on and pumping water erratically.  The water, luckily, tasted fine, and she gulped it down, tilting her head to the side under the faucet and lapping at it like a thirsty dog.  Lifting herself up from the sink she gazed at her face in the mirror.  What she saw caused her heart to skip a beat.  Two severe and jagged lacerations ran somewhat parallel down the left side of her pale face, starting just above her brow and tapering at her jawline.  The bridge of her nose was crooked and dried blood had dried on her upper lip.  Numerous small cuts and bruises pocked her visage.  Her head of long blonde hair was ratty and frayed, whole locks stained crimson by blood.  In wondering what other injuries she may have sustained she shed her soaked and tattered long sleeve shirt and tossed it to the floor, then removing her bra.

            The damage was considerably less than what was done to her face.  The majority of the damage was purplish and jaundiced patches of bruises along her collar bone and across her breasts, however there were a few minor nicks.  She took a few steady steps back and dropped her pants and underwear until she stood cold and completely naked.  Her belly, much like her chest, was pockmarked by contusions.  Her legs were gouged multiple times, lacerations and incisions alike, still oozing fresh blood, likely because she broke the clots while walking in the rain.

            She redressed herself in the clothing that the store used to sell.  Also, she nibbled on a granola bar that she found among dozens that were skittered along the floor.  The rest of the food in the store seems to have vanished.  The person, or persons that ransacked the convenience store, seemed to have stolen everything else.  Sitting in that plastic chair again she looked out at the dead town in solemnity mixed with depression.

            Since waking up only an hour ago, she didn’t really seem to think all that much, her mind practically a blank slate.  But now that she was, for the most part, fully conscious, one question continued to plague her.  Her lips moved and she asked herself “what  the hell happened?”