The Burning Rain

Prologue

It was late September when the rain came. It hadn't been predicted on any forecast, which might have garnered suspicion for anyone who bothered to pay attention to that sort of thing had they bothered to communicate with each other about it. Either way, no one was prepared for it. Not for the burning rain.

Millions died. Melted, dissolved, evaporated; they were burned and then gone. All from the rain. Not acid rain—that was caused by pollution and didn't come on suddenly, and especially not all at the same moment across the entire globe. Chaos erupted and hardly anybody left alive could be found outside some sort of shelter. There were no bodies to be collected and analyzed because they disappeared within the streams and puddles left behind. Water treatment plants were reconstructed, sewers were deemed high-clearance only, and water (the safe kind) was considered a scarce resource from that point on.

    The strangest part of the matter was that not everyone burned. Scientists began researching immediately and found one useful, disturbing pattern: the majority of people who died in the rain (as far as they could accurately gather) had been guilty of one crime or another, convicted or not. Exposed prisons reported a 95% death rate. The other 5% of cases were then closely reviewed and most of the time these prisoners were set free. Once people started reporting their lost friends and family, they began investigating their past and found secrets—forgotten, hidden, or suspected—that further credited the Guilty Theory. But because not everyone who died could be tied to a crime, that was all it could ever be—a theory. And soon the world was questioning the scale: what actually qualified as 'guilty'?

    Who was the judge? The rain. Who was at risk? One could never be sure.

    All anyone knew about the rain was that it killed. "Burns to the point of death": reporters said, and nobody questioned it. If one got caught unexpectedly there was no chance of survival, so long as they were guilty. Most were. Children, anyone under 12, were left unaffected, and few adults made the cut. Chances of survival rose dramatically for those who stayed indoors.

    After the first downpour, everyone was careful. Days of normal rain were rare, perhaps a couple times a month, and most people stayed well away from it just in case. The only way to know when the rain was the harmless sort was to basically stick someone outside and hope they didn't die, at least until someone figured out a better way. Even in the dead of winter, when colder climates expected snow, they still got deadly rain. The world began using water more efficiently than it ever had before, learning how to collect and ration it resourcefully. And, understandably, the crime-rates dropped dramatically.

    Rho supposed she was an exception to this. Somehow. And Rho knew more than most scientists and theorists who had committed countless years now to the rain's ways. She knew the rain was alive—that it could communicate with you. It could tell you that you wouldn't burn, that you would be saved. She knew the sparks on the back of her neck were sent by the rain as a warning. Rho knew that the rain could employ someone under its contracts and shackles and leave no room for discussion or compromise. It could convince them to follow, learn to trap, and choose to kill the guilty who up to that point had been able to avoid its wrath.

    Rho knew that the rain had an agenda. It was inescapable.  And if you were guilty it would find you and kill you by any means necessary. Even if those means involved her. The rain was unstoppable. Maybe Rho hated saying yes to joining its fight, but she hated the guilty even more. Because she had been a victim once. Once.

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Hey, guys! Okay, trying this again. Nano story comin' at ya ;)