Shuteye

I – Welcome to America

He woke to violence. Shards of glass, sparking cables, flickering lights. The room was a shambles. The other freezers were open or broken, most a mixture of pale blue and fog white. Some showed streaks of bright, bloody red. He became aware of a smell like burnt grass and wet earth. The door's open. The ringing in his ears settled. He heard the familiar rolling whine of a klaxon, matched by a gleam of yellow playing in the hall outside. A tinny taste filtered into his mouth. Blood? He licked his lips, then sighed in relief. Only clath runoff.
            He started to move, until the light revealed something in the hall, stalking deeper into the facility. Big, too big to be human, but predatory and deliberate in the way only man can move. He coughed unexpectedly. The monster paused. Small black eyes glinted in the emergency lighting's harsh glare. Its mouth opened and a heavy, rasping breath came through, like snuffling. Its teeth were square, small and overnumerous. At least four extra gleamed from each row. He closed his eyes, did his best to stop breathing and fidgeting. After a long moment he dared look again and was blessed with an empty doorway. The candidate wasted no more time. He opened his tank and hobbled over to the lockers. He found his clothes, grabbed a rifle and heavy bag that long ago had been filled with survival essentials, then made for the exit.
            Darkness hung about the facility, broken only by emergency lights. Various noises echoed through it: dripping, an intermittent electronic hum, the snap of broken cables from his room and the others down the hall. He heard a scream and lost all courage. The candidate darted towards the exit with all the quiet he could muster. He let a hand over his mouth to stifle a sudden, racking cough. A set of footprints–smaller than his own, one distended through a pool of blood on the floor–seemed to beckon him to the world outside. Someone's alive! His heart swelled at the thought and he hurried on, cough forgotten. The dark hallway opened to a gray world, thick with clouds. Light rain hinted of metal to his nose.
            A road curved away from the dam, carving through the forest down towards Bluford. The town appeared as it had when they'd made the hasty trip up to Central Reservoir Facility, what seemed like only an hour ago. But it was wrong. The buildings were black and stunted, broken. Smoke moldered up in three solemn towers over them. He stepped in a deep puddle, then glanced down to find his way around. Instead, he threw up.
            Whoever had made it out here minutes before was dead, identity crushed into the muddy ground along with their head, rifle and survival bag gone. He fell to his knees, coughing horribly, and recoiled at the sight of blood on his hand. He tried to wipe it off, but more coated his chin and cheek, mixed with vomit. He realized the metal smell was his blood, but could only just taste it.
            “Hey, we got a sinner over here.” The voice was feminine, but harsh. Growly in a way you couldn't get from tobacco and alcohol.
            He turned, still on his knees, to see two short-haired women, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, walk out of the brush. One brandished a weathered baseball bat cruel with nails. They were dirty and malnourished, dressed in cobbled-together clothing, brown coats and shabby boots. But, despite their worn, tired appearance, the women's eyes were alive with malice.
            “H-Help me, please! What's going on?” He coughed again, harder. A sharp pain rose in his chest. “Where am I?”
            A boot collided with his shoulder. Another landed on his back as he fell. He tried to move, to breathe. He felt weak. The woman with the bat lifted it high. She took a long draw from her cigarette and grinned.
            “Welcome to America.”