Unlike most stories that I write, which take place just after or just before an event, this is a retelling of one of the moments from this past Dystopia Rising event. Dear goodness, this stuff was good.
When they go to repair the morgue, all the Psions are going to be quarantined to the bar and away from the morgue. You’re considered a Psion for this. If any Psion leaves, it is going to be considered endangering the town and they will be executed.
The bar was nearly empty. Most everyone was by the morgue or in triage. Both places the unborn pharmacist were not allowed near at the moment. Despite the fact that she could stop people from dying, if that’s what they wanted. She could be a first step before they went to doctors for their injury, a quick fix to keep them alive until the doctors could get to them. She could help, if only they would let her.
There were about ten people total in the bar. The young half breed doctor. The dragon. The new female bar tender. The bone hat bar owner. The blue ridges. A few others.
There was a scream echoing from the skinless skeleton creature that entered the doorway. She grabbed her head from the pain of the scream.
“BONEHEADS” someone shouted as one or two launched themselves after the undead visitor.
“If they keep coming, we may have to spray down the door.” The bone hat walked with authority across the room. “It has to be a last resort. It’ll hurt She if we do.” He pointed with his gun towards her as she backed into a corner away from the newest Bonehead entering the room. “Someone protect She.”
There was another scream.
Her knees gave out from under her as she collapsed to the floor in a moment of agonizing pain. Her head hit the ground.
A deep breath and her body relaxed. She could feel them, the ancestors. Reaching out. Brushing against her fingertips. They were ready for her. A euphoric calm washed over her body. Everything was going to be alright.
“She? Can you hear me? Say something?” a voice cut through, disrupting the peace and calm.
She closed her eyes and shifted. No need to worry about the gunfire and screams. No need to worry about the frantic running of feet across the bar room floor. Focus on the peace.
“She? Talk to me. Tell me if you can feel this.”
Why wouldn’t that voice go away? Leave her be. Let her go to her true family. She wasn’t suffering, go to someone who was.
The euphoria began to fade. The sounds of the running feet and the weapons hitting hard against the bone of their attackers became louder. The voice became clearer.
“She are you okay? Stay with me.”
She sat up. The half breed doctor had been kneeling next to her.
Something was wrong. The room was… different.
“She,” someone called out, “Get away from the door.”
Then it hit her.
It emanated through the room from the door to the building. It caught in her throat. She gagged and hurriedly made her way to the bar, opposite from the doorway. She had to get as far away from that smell as She could. Oh God, it wouldn’t go away.
The Unborn glanced around the room. Everyone was walking as if it were all fine. Most everyone had relaxed a bit knowing that they were safer. No one else seemed to notice that the room had such a putrid and unavoidable smell overpowering it.
They had sprayed the door.
The colonial came running through the door. Screaming for help. Who could save people? She stood on the stage screaming, trying to hand out supplies for people to bring to triage to help save lives.
The Unborn tried to make her way over. She gagged. She had to back up. She couldn’t get over there.
The colonial screamed again. “If you can save people, get over here now!”
The Unborn tried again. Struggling to get closer. Each step closer to the door and the smell got worse. Each step closer to the door was more difficult. She stopped and gagged again before backing up quickly. She tried calling to the colonial, getting her attention, but the colonial was focused and opening her mouth almost made the smell worse.
She had to get away.
The Unborn backed up again to the bar corner.
She had been told, the only way she could leave quarantine was if it had become too dangerous in the bar. They had tried to keep the bar safe, but in doing so, prevented her from leaving the bar even if it became dangerous.
They had succeeded in their quarantine.
The pharmacist could no longer go to help anyone. She could no longer try to show the town that she wanted to be a friend and not the enemy. She was under quarantine and confined to the corner of the bar, away from everyone.
Just like she had always been kept away from everyone on the caravan.
Maybe the town wasn’t that different from the caravan.
Quarantine the monster.
If something attacks, it’ll kill her while everyone else gets away.
The Unborn sat down on the bar stool of the empty bar and sighed.
Maybe the ancestors were right.
Do not use them to replace us, your true family.
They are not one of us.