7 Stories Down

The Last Broadcast... -Part 2

Yesterday was a day not only to remember but also to fight for. Yesterday was a day where the privacy of our homes was seized; a day where an apparent necessity violated our personal sovereignty; trampled our morals and released our natural instincts.

Today, Ernest and I went after any clues that led us to Damien's whereabouts. Damien went missing yesterday while trying to distract some unknown assailants at the back of my home; right next to his. We decided that food would not be part of our priorities; at least not on the first day of searching. It had been almost a month since we had rationed food, but we trusted that our bodies would adapt to the conditions.

Ernest brought his shotgun with 20 more rounds, and I carried my machete and a long rope. As part of the rules for the journey, we had clear that the search would be a silent one; we would not be out there calling for Damien out loud under any circumstances. Additionally, we must avoid getting seriously injured since the system is collapsing and we should not be counting on the health system.

Last night's events were still confusing, I still have many questions and a lot of uncertainty. For instance, does Ernest have any idea what attacked us yesterday? What exactly did we struggle with —why did it disappear? Was the screech some sort of a call?

Whatever the answers, I didn't think it was the right time to have that conversation with a desperate father.

After we searched a couple of houses, we passed by one, very far from ours, where we heard what appeared to be radio static; like someone was trying to tune into a radio station or even someone trying to communicate through radio waves. Ernest ran to the inside of the house as I inspected the outside of it.

There was nothing strange outside, only the windows of one of the rooms had a sticky substance; something unusual. According to the pattern of the stain, something tried unsuccessfully to get inside through the windows. While trying to figure out what it was; knocking on the window with my machete, I saw Ernest enter that same room. We both jumped. He pointed the gun at me and immediately dropped it with a gasp. I guess that response comes from the need for us to be watchful and that feeling of disadvantage we both have.

As I was smelling the sticky substance on my machete, the radio static started getting louder, but at the same time was fading. "It must be the power issue; we're running out of fuel earlier today," Ernest said.

As the radio frequency came in and out, we started to hear an intermittent but intense buzzing sound while the lights of the house started flashing, and the street lights started getting brighter and brighter. I looked at Ernest, horrified, as I started feeling the static reach my skin. Ernest was staring at his arms; I knew he was feeling the same prickling sensation.

Disoriented, he rushed and opened the room's closet; both doors at the same time. He looked desperate, seeking cover, and a second later he stopped dead in his tracks —shocked. He looked at me, pale. I noticed that he was about to faint. He was slowly walking backward. Involuntarily, he dropped his gun and his legs trembled heavily.

I ran around the house and made my way towards him when I noticed his body was ready to give way. As I reached the room, I found him on the floor; lying on his back. I approached him and grabbed one of his hands. His eyes were open wide, and that was when I understood that he lost consciousness with his eyes open.

It was the closet; I mean, I knew it was something in the closet. I froze instantly, thinking it must be Damien. I shut off my heart and feelings as I turned to look. Shit, I felt guilty; as I stared at him. There was Damien; his soul was drained, his body dried —that was the only way to describe his appearance. Deeply sorrowed, I closed the doors with the sensation that I was shutting his coffin.