Mary-Jane's Pov
"Burn him!"
The word hangs in the air, sharp and sudden, taking me completely off guard. I wince, my brain scrambling to catch up with what the five-year-old by my side had just uttered. It's such a violent idea coming from such a small kid.
"No, Tyler," I explain with an exasperated sigh, leaning down to his level. "You wouldn't burn a thief if you saw one. You'd report them to your parents, and then they get taken by the police." It's the same simple logic I always use, the basic rules everyone should know.
"So the police would burn him then?" He blinks, his big eyes full of a terrible curiosity. He says it like it's the most obvious next step.
"What? No," I hush him, cutting the conversation short. I don't like where this is going.
I grab my coat from the bench, adjusting it on my loose-fitting hospital gown. I need to get us moving, our walk was over. The air is starting to feel chilly.
He follows behind me, a small shadow trailing my steps.
I inhale the blissful breeze, enjoying the sight of the setting sun as I made my way back to the hospital. It's the best part of my day, these short escapes outside the walls.
I smile at the short figure next to me as he holds my hand, trying to meet up with my pace. He was so small five years ago when his mother, Winifred, had birthed him in our ward. She was brought in pregnant and scared. Her boyfriend Marcus was ever supportive, which was something, considering he wasn't the father.
From her story, the actual father had abandoned her when he discovered her cocaine addiction. Something that Marcus sought to help her get rid of, which was what finally brought her to this facility. It's a tough story, but it's getting a better ending.
After five years and a month, she was finally leaving. I stared at the huge gates secured by hefty soldiers, a smile curling on my face. That smile widens when Tyler sneezes.
"Bless you," I chuckle.
"Thank you, Miss. Gatsby."
With all our time together, I've started to see him more like a son. I would deny it flat out if anyone asked, but the feeling is there, a quiet warmth in my chest.
"What would you do when you go home with your Mommy, Tyler?"
"I don't know." He shrugs as we got to the entrance and I showed the guard my card. He does this little dance from foot to foot.
"You don't know?"
"Well..I start kindergarten on Tuesday. I want my mommy and daddy to take me," he says, his voice full of pride.
"That must be so lovely," I laugh when we got through the revolving doors. I stopped to greet a few patients milling around the lobby before we continued walking down the familiar hallway.
He brings up the previous topic like he's been thinking about it the whole time.
"My daddy burnt a thief once with a gun," he continues as we step out past the security guard and into the main lobby.
"Tyler, that isn't —" I say, starting to feel a flicker of real concern. It's just a kid's imagination, right?
"I saw it, Miss. Gatsby," he insists, his tone completely serious, no longer playful. He looks up at me when we get to the lobby that led to our ward, adding, "It was on TV."
"Yeah, right," I say. It's easier to just let it go. His father probably plays one of those violent war video games and Tyler got a glimpse of the screen. That's all it is.
We step into the hallway and an odd smell hits me, sharp and chemical. It's like burning plastic and something else, something metallic I can't name.
"Yes!" Tyler suddenly declares, his voice loud and sure, pointing down the lobby. "Just like that man."
My throat goes dry. There's a man fully covered in flames, thrashing against the air like a broken puppet. He screams in raw agony, running in desperate zig-zags. The flames grow wilder, eating him up. Then, a loud explosion rips through the air, the sound crashing into us. I turn, my whole body snapping to a sharp alert. What the hell is that?
"Run for your lives!" someone yells, their voice cracking with panic.
What follows is the loud thudding of footsteps, a literal stampede as people pour out of the wards, patients and nurses alike, their faces twisted by fear. My heart broke for the hyper-sensitive patients who couldn't read the room and stayed behind, confused by the chaos.
A muscular figure bumped into me hard. It's Marcus. A sigh of relief washes over his face as he knelt down to hug his son tight, then he stared up at me, his eyes wide.
"Where's Winnie?" I shout through the growing chaos, having to yell over the noise.
"I'm going to get her...she went for some tests before...just get him out of here!" He yells back, his voice strained.
I almost hesitate, my nurse's instinct telling me to stay and help, but at the sound of another, closer explosion, I sweep Tyler up into my arms. He feels heavier than he should.
"Please keep him safe, Jane. We'll see you outside!"
"I will," I promise, the words feeling heavy in my mouth.
"Thank you," Marcus adds before pressing a quick kiss to Tyler's forehead. "Be safe, Soldier. I'll go get Mommy," he says to the boy.
Tyler nods despite his small body shaking against me. I turn and start running, my feet slapping against the floor. Right before I get outside, I see the huge gates have been pushed open by the crowd. People keep running on and about the place, directionless. The clean breeze was now completely contaminated with the stench of burning flesh, plastic, and fuel.
Just before I step away from the entrance and get to the gate, another explosion strikes.
This one hits the hospital behind us. The impact is a physical force, a wall of sound and heat that slams into my back. It throws me forward, off my feet. I sail from the front gate to the hard concrete of the sidewalk, landing hard on my face. Pain flares hot in my head as skin scrapes away.
The world is pure chaos. Heavy footsteps and panicked screams are everywhere, a soundtrack of terror. More explosives fall from the sky, raining down like hell itself. Cars swerve and crash into each other with sickening crunches. People pour out of other buildings, their faces masks of pure fear. I push myself up, my body aching everywhere. Tyler.
I see him. His small frame is curled up a few steps away, limp and unconscious. Shit.
I drag my aching body over to him, ignoring the pain shooting up my side. I check him quickly, my hands moving over his arms and legs, and a short burst of relief hits me when I see his chest rise and fall. He's alive. I scoop him up and start to run again. My mind is racing, a frantic loop of questions with no answers. What is going on? Were we under attack? Where are we even supposed to run to? This is a residential area.
I can't even accept the fact that the hospital was already in ruins, covered up in thick black smoke as more of those molten rocks hit the building. They'll be okay, I tell myself. Marcus and Winnie will be okay. They'll come back and take him to kindergarten on Tuesday. They'll get married in two months like they've planned, right at Vegas or wherever.
The sky darkens with thick, unnatural clouds, blocking out the sun. More molten rocks fall, crushing buildings and cars with ease. There's no place to hide, no safe cover anywhere. I dash into the chaotic streets, Tyler now awake and crying hard against my shoulder. I can't even try to assure him. I have no assurances to give. I just need to move.
But before I can get clear, an old truck swerves out of control, its tires screeching, and crashes right into my side. The pain is instant and blinding. It shoots through my leg, my ribs, a white-hot fire. The world spins violently as I fall to the ground, my grip on Tyler breaking. I watch, helpless, as he rolls onto the sidewalk a few feet away.
No.
My vision blurs, tunneling into a narrow point of darkness. From a distance, I see a masked figure walking toward me through the smoke. My chest tightens, a final spike of fear. I fight to stay conscious, holding onto the sight of Tyler on the ground.
"Miss. Gatsby!" he cries. "Miss. Gatsby!"
He's alive. That's the last thought I have. That's all I need to know. Then everything finally goes black. The last thing I hear is a distant, mechanical voice, like something from a bad movie.
[Redirecting host to the Reaper's collection.]