Jeremy Robinson - SecondWorld

Miller glanced out the glass door. A sheet of red covered the parking lot. His eyes trailed down to his own body. He was covered in the stuff. Most of it was fine, powdery dust, but the occasional large flake clung to his shoulder and in his chest hair. Forgetting the air for a moment, Miller stepped over Dave and entered the small bathroom. There was a toilet, a sink, and a roll of paper towel hanging from the wall.

The cool water from the tap felt good as he toweled it over his body. His red-hued skin soon returned to its formerly lightly tanned state. A pool of salmon-colored water surrounded his bare feet. He gingerly washed the sole of his wounded foot and checked the gash that had rung the tiger shark’s dinner bell. It wasn’t deep and had stopped bleeding, but it stung.

The still-running tap reminded Miller that he was desperately thirsty. He removed the regulator from his mouth, bent down to the tap, opened his mouth, and filled it with water. The taste hit him a moment before he swallowed. The water tasted metallic, almost like blood. He spit it into the sink, remembering the flavor of the first flake he’d placed on his tongue.

The water is contaminated with that crap, he realized.

He added water to the list of things he needed to find before leaving.

His stomach growled.

Food, too.

Miller headed back into the store and knelt by Dave’s body. “Sorry, Dave,” he said, his voice muffled by the regulator.

Despite some bloating, the boat shoes slipped off fairly easily, and fit well enough when he tried them on. He grabbed an I ♥ KEY LARGO T-shirt from a hanger. Holding his breath, he quickly pulled the shirt on and then restrapped the tank over his back. Dressed and feeling more human, Miller returned to the front desk. The tanks against the back walls would be the full ones. He checked them one by one, taking note of how much air was in them.

When he was done, he stepped back. Eighteen air tanks. Eighteen.

Thirty-six hours.

Combined with the air in the boat he could make it two days.

Feeling safe for the first time since he took that near-deadly breath of air at the life support buoy, Miller let his thoughts drift beyond his personal circumstances. He thought of his friends, the agents he worked with, and his former comrades in the SEALs. He had no idea if they were still alive. Hell, he might be the last person left alive on Earth. But he wouldn’t give up fighting for his life. Wasn’t in his nature.

He looked down at Dave, dead on the floor, and removed his regulator. “Thanks for the air, Dave.”

As he turned away from the shop owner, a small blinking blue light caught his eye.

A laptop.

The laptop sat on the floor, tipped on its side and opened partway. He could see the power cable plugged into the wall and a blue LAN cable that disappeared behind the shelf the machine had sat on before being knocked over. He slid on his belly toward the machine, righted it, and opened it up. He lay there on the floor, next to Dave’s feet, like a child playing video games, and hit the Power button.

A Windows Vista logo flashed on the screen and Miller prayed the machine wouldn’t be buggy. It started up quickly, though, and displayed a nice image of what Key Largo would have looked like a few days previous. A paradise.

But the image and all of Dave’s files held no interest for Miller. Two icons flashing in the bottom right had captured his full attention. The first was a low-battery indicator. He had suspected there was no power, but the plugged-in laptop running off batteries confirmed it. The second icon revealed no network connectivity.

Hoping Dave didn’t have his Internet history and cache cleared, Miller double-clicked the Firefox icon and a message appeared on the screen:

WOULD YOU LIKE TO RESTORE YOUR PREVIOUS SESSION?

Miller clicked Yes and the Web browser opened. The cache did its job, filling in content that was no longer live, but still stored on the computer. Five separate tabs opened at the top of the browser. The first one was what he’d been hoping to see. A news station. He clicked on the tab and a video screen appeared. He tapped on the Play icon. The station’s logo swirled dramatically onto the screen.

“Welcome to News Five at nine. I’m Rebecca Sanchez. We begin tonight’s…”

The woman on-screen was a vision. Her voice comforted him as she welcomed viewers to the show. She was alive.

Was alive, Miller corrected himself. Not anymore. Couldn’t be. The date on the newscast was two days ago.

He focused on her words instead, believing that this woman, like everyone else, was most likely dead.

“More disturbing news tonight, this time out of Washington. President Bensson has issued a state of emergency and imposed an eight P.M. curfew. He has asked that people in the affected areas remain calm, and in their homes. We here at News Five will stay at the station throughout the curfew and bring you updates as they come in.”

She continued speaking for several minutes, repeating the same information in different ways, urging people to stay at home. Stay hydrated. Ration food. And watch the news. Then she switched gears.

“The rash of illnesses that swept across southern Florida and Tokyo, Japan, yesterday, in conjunction with the beginning of an atmospheric event that some are calling biblical, seems to have abated. Symptoms ranging from headaches to severe stomach pain afflicted most everyone in the region. It seems today that the worst is over as people, including myself, are finally feeling better.”

The video ended.

Though he’d heard everything she said, only three small phrases really stayed with him: “affected areas,” “swept across southern Florida,” and, “afflicted most everyone in the region.” He knew a lot of people had died. Key Largo was a city of red-coated corpses. But if this really was a regional event, maybe there was some hope after all?

Two small thumbnail images appeared on top, labeled RELATED STORIES. They were dated the day after the newscast. Unlike many of the blue text links on the page, these were highlighted in purple. Dave had watched them, too.

Miller clicked the first.

The news anchor appeared on-screen again, this time without the flashy graphic. The tired look in her eyes supported her claim that she and the crew had indeed spent the night at the station. She started right in on the story. No greeting. No hello. All business.

“We have just received word, and this has been confirmed by labs all over the world, that this is a natural event. A cosmic event.”

She picked up a piece of paper.

“This statement comes from a NASA spokesman.” She started reading it. “Last week, our solar system passed through a large cloud of naturally occurring iron particles. The massive iron cloud struck Earth’s atmosphere at eight thirty, eastern standard time, on Wednesday morning.”

The reporter inhaled deeply, and then did so again. She appeared overcome with emotion, and short of breath, but pulled herself together and continued.

“The reddish flakes falling from the sky are created when the iron particles strike our atmosphere and oxidize—”

“Rust!” Miller said with his teeth clenched around the regulator mouthpiece.

“—forming flakes of rust. There are two inherent dangers to watch out for during this phenomenon. The first, iron poisoning is…” The woman sniffled hard, let out a faint sob, then wiped her nose and continued. “… is caused by ingesting or breathing large amounts of iron. The symptoms of iron poisoning are…” She sighed. “Severe stomachache, nausea, and vomiting, followed by a day of apparent health as the iron penetrates deeper into the body and destroys internal organs, specifically the brain and liver, as metabolic acidosis sets in. Shock comes next, severe vomiting, followed by death from liver failure.”