Molly (1/10)

Chapter 23

Chelsea watched the poor girl die. The sheep herder bellowed in glee, then died too as Jason managed to get his cricket to hit the behemoth in the leg. The sheep herder titled, then fell, and that was the end of it.

They kept coming. Not one gun, not one rifle, not a laser or a military-grade weapon; just knives and their own terrible strength. They seemed only barely human, hewn from the animals of which they wore like hunters from bygone eras of stone and chalk.

Jason clipped another, then Chelsea watched as Galla's throat was cut by a woman sheep herder. She settled, watched Chelsea like prey, then whistled and the sheep-people made their retreat.

Chelsea drew her pistol and finished off one of them, his fur shifting in the wind.

Chelsea sifted through the battlefield. She forced herself to look into the eyes of each of them, some faded, some not.

She leaned down and turned Galla's body over. The white had nearly taken her. In a way, this was a mercy.

"I wish we knew why," she said, shaking her head.

"It's a disease," Jason said, hiding his weapon in his jacket. "Someone must be spreading the shit."

"But why are only some affected?"

Jason stared back at her. "Why does it matter?"

"Maybe we could fight it."

"There's no fighting this. Not anymore."

Chelsea lowered her head, touching Galla's forehead then closing her eyes.

"I want to get high."

Jason cracked a smile, then shouted, "Let's go!"

They fall back into shadow. Chelsea traced her hand against chrome, felt the tremor of the station, and wished more than anything they could try again.

Smoke, but Chelsea did not flinch. It was familiar, tainted in orange. She pulled her head back and drew it in, her mind wandering away. She no longer considered poor Galla. Her time was over.

The rags were still there but now they were intermingled with the young, the black-strewn, the loved. The smoke put them each in a near-coma, their eyes glass, souls tethered only barely by the sound of sirens just outside.

"I don't want to fight those sheep-fucks again," Jordan said, passing a bloodied hand over his face.

"Me neither. I felt for the girl, though."

"Just another rat among rats. We could have helped her but she was too raw."

Chelsea's mind wandered. She was in a park. Birds sang, the sun above easing her tension. She was running against fields with friends and family. She could see the world for what it was: beautiful.

"Chelsea."

Jason was lying next to her. He was staring at the ceiling.

"What do you think happens to you, when you die?" he asked.

"I thought you didn't care about that shit."

"Yeah, well...I don't know."

Each color was translucent. Her face was not a part of herself. This tripped her up far more than any sort of hurting imposed by the sheep-herders; their will was iron but they could be dealt with by sure-death.

The smoke pushed her to an edge she did not think she'd ever approach.

"I..." Chelsea blinked. "I don't know."