"Is it the other one? You mean I just spent five goddamn hours driving for nothing?"
Iamon's voice was jagged. He didn't wait for an answer. He hurled the phone with enough force that it cracked against the passenger door before sliding into the footwell.
He had watched the sun crawl across the horizon, sweating in the cabin, only to be told he was in the wrong place.
He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white, glaring at the sea of red taillights across the bridge. The heat was radiating off the asphalt, making the air shimmer. But then, the vibration changed. His focus was pulled a quarter-mile ahead, where the idle line of cars was suddenly erupting into chaos.
Doors were swinging open. People weren't just stepping out... they were bailing.
THUD.
A man had sprinted blindly into Iamon's car, his body rolling over the hood.
Iamon froze, locking eyes with the man through the windshield. The guy's face wasn't just pale—it was ashen, the color of a corpse. He didn't offer an apology or even a look of pain. He scrambled to his feet, gasping for air, and ran toward the rear of the bridge. Two more people slammed into the side of the car. They all had that same look of pure terror.
Anything beyond a hundred meters was buried in a thick, creeping red mist. It looked heavy, like it was made of blood and dust.
A warm sensation mapped a sluggish path down the bridge of his nose. Iamon felt the wetness hit his upper lip and looked down as far as his stiffening neck would allow.
Blood. Bright, hot, and unmistakable.
He fumbled for the small box in his pocket—the only thing that could stop the shutdown—but his muscles were already fraying. His fingers became clumsy and unresponsive. He couldn't get a grip.
A low, deep tremor hummed through the asphalt and up into his shins. He went rigid, his eyes locked open. The box slipped from his failing grasp, clattering against the door frame before rolling into the dark crevice by the pedals.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..."
His body turned into a statue of meat and bone. He couldn't even blink to clear his stinging, dry eyes.
"Help..." The word was a pathetic, dry rasp. It barely made it past his teeth.
Outside the glass, the world was a blur of motion. People were screaming, their shadows flickering past his car like ghosts. They didn't see him. To them, he was just part of a piece of stalled machinery in their way.
Another tremor shook the bridge, followed by the high-pitched shriek of steel being shredded.
A massive explosion detonated further up the bridge, sending a rain of burning debris and concrete dust over his hood.
Iamon stared into the encroaching red mist with bloodshot eyes.
'I can't move...' A silent sob was trapped behind his ribs.
Then, a shape emerged from the fog. It was uneven at first, a flickering shadow, but as it approached, the edges sharpened. It was a young man, maybe around his own age.
'Why is he so late? Is he looking for someone?' Iamon's mind raced as hope flared like a dying ember.
The man was running at a steady pace.
'Hey! Over here!' Iamon screamed in the silence of his own head. His eyes, the only thing he could still sort of control, tracked the stranger.
The man was only a few steps away now. He was almost level with the driver's side door.
Iamon's pulse spiked that only made his paralysis tighter. The man didn't even turn his head. He ran past the car without a second glance, his eyes fixed on whatever lay behind Iamon.
'Hey! Hey!! I want to live too! Don't leave me!'
His breaths came in ragged hitches. Then, the sound of the footsteps faded into the distance.
'Don't go... please.'
The quiet was more painful than the stiffness. His mother's face flashed in his mind, twisted in fear the last time she found him like this.
'Sorry, Ma. You were right. I should've just taken that job at the store...'
The bridge groaned again. A car fifty yards ahead simply flipped over, crushed by an invisible pressure. Iamon watched it happen, unable to even flinch.
THUMP. THUMP.
The sound nearly made his heart stop. It was close. Right against the metal.
"Hello? Hey! Can you hear me?"
Iamon's pupils dilated. He couldn't turn his neck, but he could see a shadow through the side window. The stranger. He'd circled back. The man's face was pressed near the glass, his eyes squinting to see through the glare and the dust.
'Break it! Just break the glass!' The man outside didn't wait for permission or a sign of life. He ripped off his heavy jacket, wrapped it around his hand, and struck the pane.
The window shattered into a thousand glittering diamonds. Shards sprayed across the interior, landing on the empty passenger seat and Iamon's lap.
'Yes! Yes! Break the whole door too!'
The air—smelling of burning rubber—rushed into his lungs.
"Hey! You're alive!" the stranger yelled, reaching through the jagged frame to grab Iamon's shoulder.
Iamon just stared forward, a prisoner in his own skin. The stranger's hand was warm, but Iamon was as cold as the metal frame of the car.
"What the... are you in shock?"
The stranger started fumbling for the seatbelt latch, his eyes constantly scanning the road through the windshield.
"Do you have any medicines? Anything?" his voice cracked.
Iamon's eyes burned, begging the man to look down.
The stranger's hands were shaking as he frantically shuffled through the glovebox. He threw handfuls of papers and old receipts onto the floor.
The guy checked the road again. He muttered something under his breath, and Iamon only caught the tail end: "...I need to run."
The stranger looked at Iamon with a hint of guilt in his expression. "Hey, I... I can't take you if you can't move. I can't carry you."
'It's right there! Just—' Iamon didn't see the medicine box anymore. It was buried under the scattered papers.
"I'm sorry," the guy whispered.
Iamon's heart felt like it withered away.
'No! Don't, Just—'
But the stranger didn't look. He turned and sprinted off as the red mist caught up to the car.
Iamon sat there, eyes locked forward, listening to the rapid footsteps on the pavement. He waited for them to stop, for the guy to realize his mistake and turn back, but the sound only got fainter.
Then, it was gone.
'Don't go...'
The windshield exploded in a shower of glass as a lamppost struck through the frame, the heavy metal pillar coming to a stop an inch away from Iamon's left eye. Then, under the pressure of an invisible force, the blunt end of the post started to twist like wet cloth. The metal warped until the edge was replaced by a needle-sharp point. It hovered there, then moved closer.
'What's going on?!'
He watched the tip grow larger and larger in his field of vision, until the sharp point finally breached the surface of his eye.