Part 12 - May 20 - Evening in Boston

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Coleman ran heedlessly down the streets, zigzagging around or leaping over bodies scattered across the sidewalks. In front of his favorite coffee shop, the pile of bodies completely blocked the walkway, forcing him into the street. He raced between cars, their occupants still sitting frozen in their seats.

At every crossroad, another tableau of bodies sprawled across the crosswalk met him. Intersection after intersection, the grotesque dioramas drove him into greater hysteria. He ran blindly down one street after another, his unconscious goal simply to escape the sight of the dead.

Briant Coleman, terror of the boardroom, didn’t realize he was screaming until he reached an intersection blocked by rows of bodies. He tried to leap over the barrier, only to crash hard onto the pavement. The impact knocked the wind out of him, cutting his scream short.

Rolling to his side to get up, he found himself staring directly into the face of a man. Coleman screamed again, scrambling backward to escape those sporadically twitching eyes—only to tumble between two more bodies. He twisted to avoid touching one, only to meet the flickering gaze of a woman. Jerking away from her, he came face-to-face with yet another set of twitching eyes.

He screamed again.

Still thrashing to get up, pinned between bodies and unable to move without touching someone, panic swallowed him whole. He clawed his way out, climbing over the pile and collapsing onto the pavement in the middle of the intersection. Crawling backward, he stopped only when he was surrounded on all sides by the barrier of bodies in the crosswalks. Pinned in, he collapsed, screaming.

Blinking, Coleman stared up at the sky. He lay trembling, panting in shallow breaths, his throat raw from screaming himself hoarse. He had no memory of how he’d ended up lying here—until the memories crashed back.

He stayed very still, eyes fixed on the clear blue sky above. It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. But then the images of running through the streets, desperate to escape the bodies, came flooding back.

Slowly, he turned his head toward one side. The piles of corpses filled his vision. His eyes snapped shut and his breathing quickened. They’re all dead. They’re all dead. Alright… everyone’s dead. Pull yourself together. If I survived, someone else had to have survived too.

He opened his eyes again and scanned the opposite side. Carefully, he sat up. Where the hell am I?

In his initial panic, he’d run until exhaustion dropped him in the middle of this intersection. He focused on slowing his breathing, forcing himself calm. Shakily, he stood and tried to gauge his surroundings. He had no idea how far he’d run from his office.

The sun was going down—too late to return to his building, even if he’d had the strength. As he studied the street, recognition sparked. There was a high-end furniture store nearby.

He made his way toward it, stopping at a small café along the way. He took a large tray of food and a bottle of water, stepping carefully around the bodies to avoid spilling his meal. Half the water was gone before he moved on. Shit, what I really need is a stiff drink.

Spotting a liquor store down a side street, he detoured, grabbing several bottles of his favorite spirits before continuing on to the furniture store.