Apocalypse

Chapter 20 - A Whispered Song

The pieces of the sword were scattered about me, the flashes of fire coming from them quickly dying down. I grasped about for them, but it was too late. The flame was gone, and the zherti were still coming.

"I - I did it." He said, staring blankly at his closed fist with a tone of surprise. Pamela was still on him, frantically throwing her fists at his back whilst blood seeped through her skin, but he took no notice of her. Instead, he smiled and  dropped the fractals he had clenched.

"You shouldn't have interfered," he told me, more confidently, "For your own good." In an instant he swooped into the air, causing his niece to fall less-than-gracefully onto the ground. While she struggled to get back up, he hovered in the air for a moment, then took off. With a huff, I heaved myself off the ground and scrambled over to Pamela.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, sitting down wearily. She got up, and went over to the pieces of the sword. She picked up one, and held it against her head.

"The healing isn't - all - gone," she sputtered. "Here." She tossed the shard, and it landed on the ground next to me. I picked it up, and held it to my chest.

"What do we do now?" I asked.

"Now? We run. Those things aren't blind; they'll notice we're here in a second."

"Back to your mom?"

"No. We're going to find your sister." She pulled her sweat- and blood-stained sweater over her head and threw it down. "Where would she go?"

"I don't know," I said, absentmindedly fiddling with the shard. "Ow!" I had cut myself. I put the shard down and stuffed my hand in my mouth.

Pamela came over to me and gave me a shake, "Come on! Where would she go?!" She was angry, and her shaking made me nauseous. Suddenly, there was a groan from a zherti. Luckily, Pamela had snapped some sense back into me. I got up, and she grabbed my forearm.

"Let's go." I nodded, and we ran from the incoming zherti until we found a building that seemed safe enough. It was concrete, and beat up, but still in good enough shape. We ran in, and closed the door behind us.

"And then you won-der what is says. It says hey, and a hey, hey, hey. And then we all be-com-ing friends."

"What's with the song?" I asked Pamela, panting.

"That wasn't me," she whispered.

The room was dark. The lights were out, and the light switch broken, hanging from the socket. The couch was distraught, torn and stained. Pictures lay broken on the floor, yet somehow the television seemed undamaged. Nonetheless, it was a gloomy living room. We turned around and listened, and the song continued, the voice soft and the words sounding like they were written by a six year-old. A six year-old.

"That sounds like-" I started.

Pamela looked over at me. "Is it?"

There was a rapping at the door, interrupting my thoughts. "Leave it, I locked it," Pamela told me. But then, the noise was followed by a voice. Not the one that was singing; this one was loud, deep, shrieking.

"Help! Pamela!"

Familiar.