This is part 1 of my Citric Chirps series, wherein I respond to selected writing prompts sourced from /r/writingprompts.
Today's prompt is:
[WP] The purge, but no one knows when it is going to happen. Also, it only lasts for about 30 minutes. You are running errands when you hear the siren blast.
Skree-ONGK.
For a moment, nobody drew a breath. Nobody moved. The final, low note of the klaxon echoed in the ensuing silence.
Skree-ONGK.
Five years had passed since the last Cleansing. They had been damn near weekly for some time before that... then they just stopped. A couple weeks passed, and we all knew one was due. But it never came. A month passed, and everyone started wondering what was going on. Slowly, we began to leave our homes again. Slowly, we began to trust one another again. We were beginning to actually build some off-brand imitation of a functional society.
I suppose one of the oligarchs had grown bored with all that.
Skree-ONGK.
Okay. Focus. Back in the game. Need to get safe. The looters would be here soon. I eyed my surroundings. The little corner store down the road from my apartment.
Paul, the owner and operator, stood behind the counter in the front, by the entrance. He could be trusted-- I knew that. He was a defender like me. We'd talked about it several times before; shared stories of close calls over a cigarette or two on his slow days. There were three other customers in the corner store, none of whose names I knew. A bald man, in his thirties or so, had just let the Coke cooler slam shut. What looked to be his companion stood next to him, clutching his arm: a red-haired woman around the same age, maybe a bit younger. The desperate, fearful look on their faces meant they weren't the aggressive type. The last guy though, at the checkout? A total junkie. I could tell by how his eyes lit up at the sound. He was bad news...
You see, Nashville is a melting pot of sorts; a diverse city-state full of many different types of people. But when a Cleansing starts, all those differences disappear. For those thirty minutes, there are only two types of people: those who just want it to be over... who just want to live another day and protect their families, and those who seize the opportunity to strike. The looters... the rapists... and the blood junkies. They live for these damn things, these thirty-minute blocks of impunity-driven chaos. And for the last 5 years, they've been jonesing pretty hard for a fix.
pop!
The first gunshot. We weren't meant to be carrying guns. Or even own guns. But I suppose that was irrelevant now. At least for the next thirty minutes. Someone had thought to hide one away, and today was their lucky day. They were having a good ol' time over there.
pop! pop! pop!
A distant cacophony of screams became uncomfortably obvious.
Paul was the first to speak up. To my surprise, as I had been looking around, he had produced a small pistol which he now held shakily in his hand, pointing it at no one in particular.
Paul was not the violent type.
"H-hands in the air, f-folks." His aim shifted rapidly between nobody and whoever.
I put my hands up. The bald man and his companion threw their hands up in unison. The junkie lunged over the counter for the gun. He and Paul collapsed onto the floor. I made a mad dash for the counter. If I could get there in time...
BANG!
An agonising scream emanated from behind the counter. Damn. Too late. No time... I quickly scanned the store again. The couple were long gone. I scrambled for the exit.
"Uh, J-Jesse?!" A voice emerged, distinct from the noise.
I stopped in my tracks. "Paul?!"
Paul emerged from below the counter, gun in hand, visibly shaken. The screams, which continued, were not his. I walked back and leaned over the counter to find the assailant lying on the floor, writhing in pain. He'd been shot in the shoulder.
"Well?" I blurted out, almost laughing. It was mostly a nervous laugh, but there was some joy there too. I'd lost plenty of friends in Cleansings; over time it gets more familiar but it never gets any easier. I'm not sure if Paul and I were friends, but I was certainly glad it was him that had emerged from that struggle. "Ya gonna finish him?" I asked, gesturing grimly towards the contemptible heap at our feet.
The screaming had morphed into a strained sort of unintelligible pleading.
Paul shook his head. "I-I don't... wanna kill nobody."
One of the too good guys. This schmuck would be back for him later, Cleansing or not.
"Okay, listen, Paul," I said, hopping over the counter. "There's two types of people in these things. The good kind, and the bad kind. Our friend here..."
I gave our friend's head a good, hard kick. He didn't seem to notice-- he'd either passed out, or snuffed it on his own. I didn't check.
"...ain't the good kind. If you can't bear it, I'll take care of it." I held out my hand for the pistol. "We're running out of time, Paul. We need to get outta here."
Paul yanked his gun hand away violently, as if I'd tried to take it by force. "You ain't killin' nobody in... m-my damn store! Anyways... I got a shelter room downstairs. Let's go."
Paul threw aside a rubber mat one-handedly, revealing a trapdoor. He fumbled with the latch for a couple of seconds before opening it and disappearing down a ladder into the hole.
I weighed my options. From the noise, it was clearly no less chaotic outside. About 5 minutes had already passed, which left 25 to go. The store was still surprisingly empty; the nearby shooting and the shot from Paul's gun seemed to have scared off any casual looters.
I grabbed a cheap pocketknife from one of the displays on the counter and opened it up. Slowly, I bent down to the unconscious attacker. I knelt on his chest. He was still breathing. I placed the knife against his throat. A strange feeling came over me... a rush. I felt powerful. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before.
I must admit that while I'd never had any real desire to participate in a Cleansing, I did have a sort of morbid curiosity about it. One that I'd imagine drove many of the addicts just like this one to their first kill. It was certainly tempting.
"God-dammit, Jesse, what the hell are you doing up there?!" shouted Paul from downstairs. "Are you comin' or not? I'm gonna shut you out!"
I lifted the knife away from the man's throat.
"...Yeah... yeah, I'm comin'," I said, as I folded the knife and put it in my pocket. I climbed down the stairs and shut the hatch.
I'd have to settle for shoplifting.