losttheright: (pic#2993724)
In retrospect, maybe she should have seen this coming.

For a couple of weeks now, Molly has been helping to draft statements about this string of disappearances, people vanishing and returning days later with stories about some alternate, fucked up version of Darrow. The story is largely the same as it was when the same thing happened a few years ago: a roundabout way of saying that they have no fucking idea what's going on, and that people shouldn't panic about something that absolutely merits panicking. At least, that's how she sees it, but she remembers not long after people started turning up in this place, when the whole city was like that and she nearly died trying to get to one of the churches. She remembers, too, the shape Russell had been in when he got back the last time this happened. The fact that, once again, it's apparently temporary is a small comfort, but the idea of it happening at all is still terrifying, and so she mostly doesn't think about it. Outside of the context of work, it isn't worth it, nothing that's affected her yet, nothing that she has any reason to think will do so.

The latter is clearly where she's mistaken. Not giving it any more thought than she has to has helped insofar as making sure she doesn't freak out about it, but it means that when she steps out of City Hall in the evening to find the world changed in a way that's uncomfortably familiar, she doesn't know what to do with it. All she can do is stand there for a moment, trying to force herself to breathe, difficult as it is with the ash in the air and when she's so fucking terrified. She could have prepared herself for this, at least to an extent, but she didn't. None of the official statements issued by City Hall could really have driven home what it would be like to find herself here, with the knowledge that, when it finishes getting dark, she'll really be in trouble, at least if what happened before is any way to judge. She might be a little more capable now than she was three and a half years ago, but that's only saying so much. It's certainly not enough for her to want to take any chances.

Tempting as it is to stay there and shut down and start to cry, she knows she'll only be worse off if she does that. Instead, she tries to think through things she can use to try to keep herself grounded — that she's lived through this or something like it before, that she's lived through what she would describe as worse, that it is, by all accounts, something that should only last a few days. That, and that there's still a little bit of time left before the sun has set and she's screwed.

It's with the latter in mind that she finally heads away from City Hall, in the direction of the nearest church. From here, it's a bit of a walk, straight through the park to the other side of the city, and she probably won't be able to stay there for too long, but she might at least have a chance to pull herself together and possibly get some sleep tonight before dealing with this head-on. Right now, she barely feels like she can deal with it at all.
losttheright: (pic#2993635)
The route from her apartment to the church is one Molly has taken any number of times since she showed up, one she knows like the back of her hand after close to two months living here. It's never been like this, though, and she's never had to run it before. What's happened to the city, she hasn't got a clue, but if there's one thing that's become more than apparent since the sun went down and those sirens sounded, it's that nothing is really safe. Her apartment sure as fuck wasn't, anyway, tempting as it had been, at first, to fit herself into a small space there and wait it out. The night's too long for that, and if what she saw on her way out through the lobby, after all but stumbling down the stairs in her haste after figuring out that the elevator wasn't working, was any indication — some grotesque, armless man with a giant hole in his chest, the sight absolutely sickening — she'd have been stuck up there before too long.

Now, she isn't sure that stuck wouldn't have been better. The trouble with being out in the open, no matter how quickly she tries to move, is exactly that — it's open, with no shelter to be found, nothing to keep her safe. It makes her wish she weren't on her own, but she's pretty sure it wouldn't make a difference either way. Whatever this shit is, it isn't anything human. Besides, the few times she's tried to use it, she hasn't been able to get a signal on her phone at all, so it isn't as if there's anyone she could call. She'll just have to weather this on her own, and wish she hadn't been alone at her place when the world turned to what seems like a literal definition of hell. If it weren't for the broadcast, she wouldn't even be sure that it wasn't, that she hadn't wound up there after all.

Everything else seems to be straight from there. Almost to the bridge, she thinks she's in the clear, so of course that's when they strike, seeming to come out of nowhere, these grey, fucked-up looking variants on children, a whole group of them and all wielding fucking knives. She never stood a chance for a second. One gets her in the leg as she starts to take off, shallow but painful, and it sets her off-balance, sends her tumbling to the pavement, palms taking nearly all of her weight. If the pain weren't enough to be paralyzing, the fear would be; her heart's beating so hard in her chest that she's certain it's got to be audible, and all she can think is that she's about to fucking die, again, this time for no discernible reason, and she's not ready for that. She won't ever be. The next one's blade drags along her hairline to her temple, another's her arm, and she isn't sure how any of them there are, but she can't do this, she can't. There's no fucking way, after everything, that she goes like this, when she's so goddamn close to where she needs to be, even if the sight and feel of her own blood makes her have to swallow back bile.

How she manages to pull herself to her feet, she doesn't know, but she thinks it might be the self-preservation that she couldn't find in Ohio. It's still slow enough to earn her a couple more wounds, but she does it, and that's all that counts, that and the fact that she doesn't let them stop her this time. Even with tears already burning in her eyes, she has to get there, regardless of what shape she does so in. By the time she does reach the church, she's pretty bad off, too, and she knows it, but it could be worse. At least she's on her feet. At least she's fucking here at all. Throwing open the door without hesitation, as if she hasn't stood outside almost every day unable to bring herself to go inside, she barely moves at all once she's stepped through and let it close behind her. She's supposed to be safe here. Convincing herself of that, though, is more difficult than it has any right to be, too surreal to be made sense of yet.

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Molly Stearns

April 2022

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