The Unraveling

THE UNRAVELING

Devin Gifford

THE TELLING ROOM

225 Commercial St., Suite 201

Portland, ME 04101

©2020 The Telling Room

All rights reserved, including right of reproduction

in whole or part in any form.

Managing Editor: Kathryn Williams

Cover: Graphic by Devin Gifford

phoenix silhouette ©kurstovin/123RF.COM;

flames courtesy M3los93/DeviantArt.com

Book Design and Layout: Andrew Griswold

Author Photo: Molly Haley

Distributed by Smashwords

also available in print

Contents

Prologue: Picture Frame

Chapter 1 - A Phoenix Wrapped in Flames

Chapter 2 - The Slaughterhouse

Chapter 3 - Rookie Mistake

Chapter 4 - NO VACANCY

Chapter 5 - The Unmarked Key

Chapter 6 - Codebreakers

Chapter 7 - The Lie

Chapter 8 - A Typical Family of Blade Wielding Psychopaths

Chapter 9 - The Happy Place

Chapter 10 - Spoiled Memories

Chapter 11 - 0412

Chapter 12 - Monument to a Dead City

Chapter 13 - Dead Flowers

Chapter 14 - The Stranger

Chapter 15 - Disappointment

Chapter 16 - Old Wounds

Chapter 17 - Tethered

Chapter 18 - Artificial Innocence

Chapter 19 - The Vault

Chapter 20 - A False Master

Chapter 21 - Clarity

Chapter 22 - Final Moments

Chapter 23 - Monsters Aren’t Real

PROLOGUE

Picture Frame

The woman sighed, and the sound filled the empty office. Her fingers drummed against the tabletop, acting of their own accord, and she glanced at the clock. It ticked lazily, as if it knew that it had no purpose anymore. Time didn’t matter much now. The hands of the clock were simply going through the motions, the same as she was. In a few more seconds, the minute hand would reach the twelve and the computer screen in front of her would flick to life. But for now, she waited.

Beside the dark computer sat a lamp, turned on to replace the lack of natural sunlight. It cast shifting shadows in the corners of the room. The desk was otherwise quite empty, the way she liked it. Mess kept her from focusing on what was important. The only unnecessary item on the desk was a picture frame, and she found herself staring at it. Her eyes had been slipping to it more and more lately. She became so enveloped in the photo that she didn’t notice the slight click as the computer screen jumped to life. The light blinded her, and she slammed the photo face down on the desk, breaking its spell.

A video chat had opened on the computer, and as always, no one sat on the other line. Still, she pasted a smile on her face to please him. He was watching, even if she couldn’t see his eyes on her.

Good morning, she said, embellishing the words with sweet formality.

We have a problem, he said, not returning her greeting. He was still outside of the camera’s shot, and his voice seemed deeper than she remembered. More intimidating. She shoved her anxiety out of view of the camera.

I haven’t even reported anything yet. She stepped carefully around the words.

It’s not about you. This is about all of us, he said, sensing her nerves. She could almost feel his distaste. We’ve identified a possible threat to our operation. The following names are of those who have been identified in the U.S. You will need to dispatch a team to locate and eliminate them immediately.

What’s going on? Who are they? Faces began to scroll across the screen. Names she had never heard, blurring into one another.

The scroll stopped abruptly, and the faces cut away. It’s not necessary that you know the reason for termination.

I think it is necessary! If these people are a threat, I need to know why. What’s happening, sir? She felt the ice cracking beneath her. This kind of prying could be considered suspicious. Being unreasonable was enough reason to be thrown out of the operation. Plenty of those below her would claw their way to the top if it meant they could tip her out of this chair and assume her place. Gathering herself and draining the anger from her face, she regarded the camera calmly. Secrets will destroy us. You know that. We have to stand together against this threat.

These individuals have proven to be resistant to our control. He hesitated to speak the barbed words.

Rebels? All due respect sir, but for us, execution is not necessary to control resistance.

He stood. She couldn’t see him, but she heard the moment his shoes touched the floor. The sound of shifting clothing came through the microphone, and for a moment she thought he would come on screen. She waited, but the chair remained empty. The silence filled the monitor.

No, he finally said. "These individuals are resistant to our control. They have not rebelled, but their very existence is a possible threat to this organization. Do you understand?"

It felt as if she had suddenly plunged through the ice, freezing water filling her lungs and running through her veins. The clock, it seemed, began to tick faster.

Have the others been informed? She couldn’t suffocate the shake out of her voice.

Some smaller countries have completed the termination list, he sighed. We waited to inform you until we had identified as many as we could.

She nodded. Show me.

The faces began to scroll across the screen again, slower this time. Five names, then ten, fifteen, twenty. More than she could’ve imagined. Her fingers shook, and she held them still, praying that she could avoid the inevitable.

Two names passed the screen. Two faces more familiar to her than her own. Their driver’s license photos, she realized, and dread ran through her. Slowly, she reached off-screen and tilted the picture frame back up. The glass had broken when she slammed it down, and now a thin crack ran between them.

Wait! she cried, as if the gun was being held to their heads at this very moment, and the echo of her shout in the empty room would somehow halt their inevitable execution.

Excuse me? he said. The scroll of faces ended, and the total number blinked at the top of the screen. 48. A new file opened, but she hadn’t clicked on it. It was a list of all the profiles she had just seen. She scrolled down the page, like maybe the names would disappear. But there they were. Number 39 and Number 40.

The clock ticked inside her skull. Suddenly, the empty room had become a claustrophobe’s nightmare. She took a difficult breath.

Is there a problem? It was a threat, clearly. She would have to go about this carefully.

I won’t order the elimination team. Not yet. Not until 39 and 40 have been neutralized, She glanced at the broken picture frame, and a faint clicking sounded from the other side of the microphone as he opened their profiles. Then, a sigh.

I predicted that they might be a problem for you. His voice became suddenly hard. "I assume you knew nothing of this?’

Of course not, sir, she lied expertly.

What, exactly, do you propose? he asked.

Let me neutralize them, she spoke slowly, buying moments to develop her proposition. If I bring them here, if they join the operation, then they are no longer a threat, correct? There is more than one method of controlling someone, even for us. They could be an asset. And once they are out of the way, I’ll order the termination of the other 46. Everyone gets what they want. She smiled again, all teeth.

Not quite, he said, poking holes in her smile and watching as it deflated. There was a moment of silence as he considered whatever proposal he was about to make. Let’s make this a little bit more exciting. I know you’ve always been partial to games. I will give you one chance to recover them, but they will be hunted. If they are really to be an asset to the organization, you will need to test their abilities. If they manage to make it to you, and they agree to join our ranks, I will consider them neutralized. But if you fail, if they prove to be a threat we cannot control, or if they jeopardize the operation in any minute way, they will be terminated with the rest of the list, as planned. In fact, they will be the first to be terminated. That decision will no longer be yours to make.

I understand. Her voice shook, but his was filled with ulterior motive. There was something he wasn’t revealing to her, but pressing it would kill her chances of saving anyone.

Then let the game begin, he said.

As she began to answer him, the video screen went black and the window closed itself. The conversation was decidedly over, and she shifted her gaze to the picture frame.

Let the game begin, she muttered to the picture. They seemed to laugh back at her, and she laid the frame face down again to stifle the sound.

CHAPTER 1

A Phoenix Wrapped in Flames

The convenience store was barren. No cars sat in the tiny parking lot out front. One window was broken, and fog drifted in and out of the ragged hole in the glass. The faded, peeling sign on the intact window advertised a 79-cent slushy, any flavor. But as I neared the door, I could see the slushy machine. The thick, artificial syrup was crystallized, leaking out the front of the dispenser. Flies zipped around the bright liquid.

I pulled open the door and winced as it creaked obnoxiously, as if to announce my presence. My palm was left slick with condensation, a remnant of the fog that drifted around the store, and I wiped it on my jeans as I stepped through the door. The place looked like it hadn’t been disturbed in a long time. The lights whirred with a mechanical whine, and every other bulb flickered, like a message in Morse code.

A thin haze of fog floated lazily through the aisles, a tiny amount compared to the thick blanket outside. Nothing to worry about yet, but I had to move fast. It could thicken in the moment that I turned my back. I noted both exits and propped the front door open with a few packs of beer for a quick escape if I needed one.

The register was open and empty, not that I was looking for money. It had no real value anymore. Crouched behind the counter, my knees ached while I scoured the ground for anything useful. There was a plastic lighter, possibly broken, but I pocketed it anyway. I stood and ran my hand over a stack of papers, which scattered to the ground and revealed nothing. The shelves behind me were empty, too, offering only a rusted pocket knife and a lonely pack of cigarettes. I took the pocket knife, flicked out the longest blade, and ran it down the pad of my forefinger. My finger stung with the sensation you get the moment before skin breaks. Still sharp.

I abandoned the counter, crossing back over into the main store. The fog swirled as I walked through the aisles, grabbing everything that was left. Supplies had been dwindling for the past couple days, and Liam had insisted we look for food in the city. I would just as soon leave and find supplies somewhere else, but he had insisted. He had also insisted on staying at the hotel while I went out, for reasons I could not fathom. So, I had walked through the city alone, and it had felt like someone was watching me the entire time. Something about San Francisco sitting abandoned and lifeless made it feel haunted, empty windows peering from empty buildings and watching over skeletal roads.

Despite that, I was clearly not the only one to visit the store. Whoever did before didn’t know what they really needed. They took the money, which would mean nothing to anyone now, and they left all the food with actual nutritional value. I stuffed granola bars and a few rare bags of trail mix into my pockets and passed the leaking slushy machine, careful to avoid the sticky puddle of melted syrup that had gathered around it. Opening up the refrigerator, I grabbed the last couple bottles of water and tossed them into my backpack.

The back shelf offered a few flashlights, a box of cake mix, and some instant rice. I dumped all of it into my bag and struggled to pull the zipper shut. I was about to finish up and head back to the hotel when voices echoed from outside the store.

She went in there. Only her. A man’s voice.

I scrambled across the floor, staying below the windows, and leaped back behind the counter. Ripping off my backpack, I pulled my baseball bat out from the side holder. The voices continued and grew louder as the men came closer. My panicked mind raced for an explanation as I tightened my grip on the bat’s handle, the solidness of the wood grounding me.

What felt like an eternity of silence passed, and I slowly raised my head over the edge of the counter. Two dark outlines stood outside the convenience store, silently loading their pistols. Both were dressed in entirely black, and a crest of a phoenix engulfed in flames was the only hint to their identity. I didn’t recognize it. One was tall and imposing, shaped like a rectangle. The other was shorter and looked wiry. I made a quick judgement in my head. If I kept the element of surprise, I could probably take them.

Probably.

I ducked back down just as the door swung open, squeezing my eyes shut. Every muscle in my body was tight with anticipation, ready to throw myself over the counter.

Nowhere to go now, one of the men taunted me, stepping further into the store with his pistol raised. Where are you hiding?

Their footsteps were walking away from the counter toward the back of the store. Suddenly, there was a crash as the wiry man shouted and kicked over a stand advertising barbecue chips. I flinched at the noise, willing my breath to be silent.

Come out now, we just want to talk, the short man spoke, his voice a nasally whine.

The heavy footsteps of the taller man were coming back toward the counter. I gripped the bat, my jaw set. Anticipation sang like acid in my veins. The man’s large head peered over the counter, and before he even registered that I was there, I launched to my feet and swung. The barrel of the bat made contact with his stubbled cheek, and the crack as his neck snapped to the side echoed through the convenience store. The pistol in his hand fell to the ground and went off. The deafening shot drowned out the shouts of the other man. He dropped like he was made of lead, slumping over the counter. I jumped over his body and threw open the door of the store, ducking as the shorter man leveled his pistol and shattered the window with three quick shots. The commotion rippled through the fog outside. Before I could get a yard away from the door, it came alive with movement. Figures formed out of the mist, inhuman shadows taking form. They gathered, surrounding the store. I stayed silent, crouching beside a lonely gas pump. The convenience store filled with swells of fog and within minutes the man’s screams filled the street as I sprinted away.

***

At the beginning of the end of the world, my brother developed an aversion to the nightly news. Reporters held their nerves behind tight smiles as they reported on the fog that had seemed to cover the entire planet and the numerous disappearances that were picking society apart at the seams, but Liam refused to listen to it. If it was on while he was home, it wouldn’t be for long. My mother and I tried to reason with him once, but he only responded by unplugging the entire TV and cutting the wires. He had never acted like that before, and it was how I knew that everything was really going to shit.

He tried to continue life as normal. We all did. But normal started to dissolve when an entire family on our street disappeared in the middle of the night. Experts linked the disappearances to the fog, but they couldn’t explain the stories. People reported their friends and coworkers wandering into the thick mist in a daze and never turning up for work the next morning. Some stories described entire crowds of people walking into the fog and disappearing. Cars started to be abandoned on the highway when the driver became suddenly mesmerized by the fog and left it behind. Some people who claimed to have escaped the fog all said the same thing: the fog wasn’t only linked to the disappearances; it was causing them. Some went as far as to say that it was alive, and something lurked within its mist. Most sane people dismissed the claims.

But it got worse. Missing posters plastered every available wall in town, covering over the ones from the first disappearances. It got so out of control that some towns banned them from being posted in public areas. People posted tributes to their missing loved ones, begging them to come home and knowing they never would. In all of it, one thing was true. No one ever came back.

It started to feel like the fog targeted certain people. In the Jenga tower of our society, the people at the bottom were the ones who went first. The ones that you would only pull if you had no other choice. I remember the first headline I ever read about one of the disappearances: Queen of England Missing, Royal Family Scrambles! Celebrities disappeared by the dozen, so many that they could only announce a few of them on the news. The panic grew out of control, and in a few short weeks, the Jenga tower toppled.

Most government officials disappeared in the span of a week, and soon there was no one to even try to create order. Experts stopped trying to explain the phenomenon and started warning people to just keep their loved ones close. My brother eventually won out in his battle with the news because there weren’t enough reporters left to broadcast. Businesses closed for the night and never reopened, their owners and employees the newest victims. The fog had descended in March, and by summer the world had completely unraveled.

The ones who are left avoid the fog like it’s a particularly contagious plague. It’s at its most dangerous when it is thick, and it could hide anything behind its mist. As the population dwindled, people started to avoid each other too. Most of us just try to survive, but some people have become more dangerous than the fog.

***

My breath felt thick in my throat, sticking the way air does when it’s humid. I turned at a rusted stop sign, running down side street after side street. If I was followed to the convenience store, then someone had to be watching me. No one was supposed to know we were here at all. Just a quick stop, Liam had said. A few nights in a real bed. I should have known it was a bad idea.

I continued my zig zag route, and my legs ached as I ran down yet another street that led nowhere. This city felt like a maze, with each street looking the same as the one before. The fog had dissipated in the other parts of the city, and I found myself downtown, facing a street lined with empty storefronts and wrecked cars. The signs were bright but fading quickly. There was a boutique, a redundant amount of restaurants, and a few other assorted businesses scattered along the stretch. If I squinted, I could pretend that nothing had changed. That it was just a slow day for the businesses and soon the street would be lit up with life again. Of course, it wasn’t. If I looked closer I saw the gritty details, like the parts of a house they don’t mention when they want you to buy it. I could see the shattered windows, the dust collecting on each tabletop in the restaurants, and the obscene graffiti that covered each empty wall. The only sound was the scrape of my sneakers against the pavement. I shook away my thoughts and picked up my pace again, jogging around the street corner.

My walkie-talkie chirped to life, and I broke away from my mind at the noise.

Will? Willow! Where are you? My brother’s voice came through the talkie, and I set my bat on the ground as I rushed to get it out of my backpack.

I’m okay, over. I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice as the walkie-talkie crackled.

Thank god. The signal was weak, and his voice cut out abruptly.

Liam? I’m almost back, over.

There were a few beats of silence, and for a second I thought he wouldn’t respond.

What happened? His voice was full of worry, and my heart strained. Are you hurt?

No, no. I’m okay, I promise. Talk when I’m back. Something in my shoe. Over. Our code for I think I’m being watched.

I’ll be at the door. And you don’t have to say ‘over,’ he said. I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile.

You absolutely do have to say ‘over,’ over.

Whatever. Come back in one piece, he replied. I switched the talkie off and tossed it back into my bag, quickening my pace.

Relief overwhelmed me when I reached the chain link fence that marked the alley behind the hotel. I scaled it with ease and dropped noiselessly to the other side. I couldn’t see that anyone had followed me, but there was only one way to be sure. Kneeling behind the dumpster, I leaned my head against the brick wall behind me and listened. The silence felt heavy, sitting in the air like the fog that covered the city. I kept myself quiet, the way I learned to in the past months. The world was always so loud before. Now it was always silent—even the electrical hum of the wires that laced the sky above seemed quieted. It was disconcerting sometimes, but it made it easy to pick out someone’s footsteps.

I let out a breath and slumped against the wall after sufficient minutes of silence. As far as I could tell, no one had followed me.

Forcing myself to my feet, I rose from behind the dumpster. The hotel wasn’t far now, just at the end of the alley. I jogged past the familiar trash that littered the pavement. A broken bike, a tipped over garbage can that had clearly been rummaged through, empty takeout containers, and other discarded things no one cared about anymore. At the end of the alley was the side door that led to the maintenance hall of the hotel. I knocked twice, then paused for a beat, then knocked three more times. There was a moment of hesitation and the door swung open. Liam had his walkie-talkie in one hand and a combat knife in the other.

I tumbled through the door and threw myself around him, relaxing as his arms circled around my shoulders. He smelled familiar, a mix of the worn cotton scent of our old house and the metallic tang of city air. My bat clattered to the ground, but we both ignored the noise. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to process what had happened and what it meant for us. When he pulled back, concern etched his face and his hands lingered on my shoulders.

You scared me, he sighed. What happened out there?

I was followed to the convenience store. Two men attacked me there, I said, and as I heard the words, the situation felt more real. The crack of my bat against the man’s cheek screamed in my head.

I heard them, so I hid behind the counter. They started tearing the place apart, and when one of the guys looked over the counter, I… I hesitated, looking down at my bat. I