A woman's distant, crackling voice came over the radio. "Rahman, what are you doing? Thirty minutes left!"
He ran, dropping the box. He hadn't realized what time it was getting to be. The noise should have tipped him off. He could see the shimmers of the shades everywhere he looked. They were ignoring him, for now. They were still going about their daily lives. But every once in a while one would look in his direction and its eyes would linger, some recognition in them.
They were still peaceful, still docile, this close to the sanctuary. The place seemed to calm them down. It wasn't the smiling image of Blake that had been plastered over all the walls, he was sure. This had been the way into Paradise once, but now it was different–it led further into the city no matter which way you left.
There was only one path that mattered to him: onward. The sanctuary wasn't that far away–he always went in an arc around it, sticking close as he scavenged for what they would need each day. He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes.
Then he missed his step. He hit the fourth step from the bottom with his shoulder, hearing it crack in a way that didn't sound happy. He could see the concrete coming closer until it was the only thing he saw and everything went black.
Rahman woke on his back, at the bottom of the steps. The shades around him paused, turning their collective gaze on him. His watch beeped. Ten minutes left.
His arm provided no support as he stumbled, rolling, to his feet.
The specters were chasing him now, actively aggressive. He could feel a chill begin to take over him, numbing his
fingers, making him long for the sweltering heat of the tropical sun. He'd never been out this late since the incident.
He ran, each step a leap toward the sanctuary. He remembered an alley from better times and ducked down it, ignoring a specter that tried to pry itself out of the wall, howling as its fused essence pulled it back into its prison.
That was new to him. As the days grew longer, they got weirder. Always the same thing, but with more detail, and more chaos. Like it was easier to remember as the point of no return got closer.
He wouldn't have anything to show for today, but he'd be alive.
That's what he told himself.
He just had to run a little further. Sanctuary was ahead. His limp arm slowed him down, and as he rounded the clock-tower the bell began to ring.
He thumbed the button on the radio.
"I'm sorry, Jessica. I don't think–"
Too late. He felt something like a boiling in his mind. He wanted to cry out, to scream. One last gesture to indicate his humanity. He hoped his thumb had slipped off of the radio button.
It would all be over soon.
