There was a pounding at the metal door and she kicked it when Elliott tried to open it. Once she’d reached the roof, she’d used bars from the window cleaning scaffolding to wedge the door shut.
“Shavian!” Elliott yelled, thought they were muffled through the thick door. “It’s not safe for you to be running around alone! What if the military comes?”
“The only person that isn’t safe right now is you, if you don’t leave right now, Elliott!” She kicked the door again and walked away, confident he wasn’t going to be able to pry his way through. She made her way to the edge of the roof where she could look down over the city of Portland below. The perfect city grid was marred with hordes of ants.
Not ants, undead daemons. She turned the half empty bottle of tequila by the neck. It had been acquired against the protest of the table owner in the dealer’s room. She’d took it without even a word and when the man stepped around the table to confront her Higgins stepped in, shaking his head and the owner’s protests died quickly.
With another long draw she gagged and booze dribbled down her chin mixing with the tears. The wind whipped her hair about her face, her throat burned and her head spun. “What do you want from me?” she shouted into the night.
God had made her a prophet, and God had spoken. She wasn’t to leave this doomed state till she’d performed her miracle. But what was one girl supposed to do against the crumbling of humanity?
The military had evacuated everything from north Portland to the water and the troop carriers had started to move in on the beer festival when it was decided the bridges were to be destroyed. They were called off and the people there were left to their own fate. Still, army choppers had been flying back and forth into the Air Force base throughout the rest of the day. In turn, the festival’s security had locked down the building, letting no one else in. The only reason they had been allowed in was because they had Aubrey with them.
Having screamed herself hoarse she sat on the edge and dangled her feet off the edge. Heights had never bothered her even twenty stories up. She gagged down another sip and thought about tossing the rest of the bottle into the night, then remembered how Higgins had stepped in for her and thought better of it.
What to do, what to do?
Below her, the masses were getting thicker. While they had been at the mall trying to acquire provisions, the security had moved in more cars and fencing to build an even larger wall against the zombies. There were more than four times as many undead as last night. As the rest of the city failed, like a plague they came to snuff out every last sign of life.
What to do, what to do?
She ground the second knuckle of her pointer finger into the point where the ridge of her nose met her forehead till it hurt and she could focus. She was to be his prophet. He’d made that clear. She tried to leave the state, he took the bridge out from under her. If that wasn’t guidance from above… then what was guidance from above?
“Fine! I’ll give you your war!” she shouted up at the night’s sky. Then pulling the bottle to her lips she took another long swig coughing, “As soon as I recover from my hangover.”