The smoke from
the wreckage filled the sky. As soldiers and emergency personnel
arrived to secure the scene they found what they expected: charred,
broken bodies scattered across the field. What they didn’t expect
to find was her.
The sole
survivor of the tragedy, she stood in the midst of the field with her
back to the rescue teams. Her sweet summer dress, now torn and
covered in ash, and her long blonde hair blew in the hot winds
surrounding the wreckage.
Cries of
“Survivor! We have a survivor!” filled the site.
The emergency personnel
called it a miracle that the young woman wasn’t destroyed in
the blast, but they were suspicious. Soldiers
approached with caution,
fanning around the site.
Dan Johnson, a
soldier with some medical experience, was the first to approach.
“Ma’am? We’re here to help. Are you hurt?” Rather than
weeping or begging for help, she remained still. “Ma’am?”
She slowly
turned to face them. “Be careful. There are … sharp edges.” Her
voice trailed off and the soldier watched her eyes fall on one of the
crumpled bodies in the field.
When she
stumbled a little, her bare feet catching on debris, the soldier
closed the gap between them and helped her sit down. Someone dropped
a blanket around her shoulders as Johnson began to staunch the head
wound that bubbled blood down her face. Her blue eyes seemed to be
looking at everything and nothing, as if she saw every tiny detail
before her but nothing could reach her.
Obviously dazed
from a serious head injury, it became quickly apparent that in her
current state she didn’t even know her own name. Determined
officers questioned her but she had no answers, no words to describe
what happened in the accident. Several times she stood up and began
to walk away in confusion, but Johnson easily coaxed her back down.
“I think I
heard a little southern in your voice. Where you from, ma'am?
Alabama? Tennessee?” He lightly tugged on her wrists to bring her
back and spoke conspiratorially like he was telling a dirty joke in
church.
Stone-faced
officers nearby watched them closely and urged Johnson to keep
pressing her for information. After a while they started to notice
she seemed a little more alert and something was different about her
face.
“You feeling a
little better? You look a little better.” Johnson continued talking
but she kept her silence.
When her eyes
first began to brighten, the soldiers brushed it off as a trick of
the emergency lighting. Then her eyes began to glow ice blue.
Johnson jumped back and the soldiers drew their weapons. What they had called a miracle was now becoming their nightmare. This young woman who emerged from the fire and smoke was a new Instance.
Johnson jumped back and the soldiers drew their weapons. What they had called a miracle was now becoming their nightmare. This young woman who emerged from the fire and smoke was a new Instance.
Only three
others like her are known to exist. With very little data available,
scientists have been unable to explain what creates the Instances,
these humans who crawled out of the wreckage of horrific disasters as
a new species of human. Some theorize that the great energy of the
destructive event causes the transformation to a new, not-human
creature. Others believe the Instances were never human to begin with
and that they caused the disasters from which they emerged.
In every case,
the Instance was the only survivor of the disaster and each emerged
with powerful, untested abilities. Although information about the
Instances is classified, the “leaked” footage of their
inexplicable powers and abilities will keep the news hounds fed for
years.
It was the
knowledge of the Instances' inhuman abilities that put fear into
these officers and the change in the camp was instant. Men who had
shown great care and concern for her were now terrified and more than
a little angry.
She spoke for
the first time in many minutes. “Why are you afraid?” With a hurt
expression, she dropped her glowing blue eyes.
Barked orders
flew around the camp but the girl barely seemed to notice. She kept
her now quite startling eyes focused on the soldier who first
approached her, who dressed her wounds, and who moments before was
telling jokes to try to make her feel better. Dan Johnson now stood
10 paces away with a gun pointed at her head.
The young woman
stood and allowed the shock blanket to fall to the ground. Turning to
the wreckage, she lifted her arms slowly. With a great shudder, the
giant mass of broken metal rose and hovered above the ground.
“I can see
it.” Her voice came clear and steady even amidst the chaos.
Johnson took a
tiny step closer. “See what?”
With a small
gesture of her finger the wreckage turned.
“See what,
ma'am?”
She looked over
her shoulder and turned those piercing, neon blue eyes on him. “I
can see the device that ruined us - that killed 89 men, women, and
children.” The offending piece flew out of the wreckage and landed
at Johnson's feet. “They tried to kill me, but instead they made
me.”
The wreckage
came to rest on the ground again and she turned to face the soldiers.
Unlike earlier when her eyes were glazed with shock, they knew she
was really seeing now. She saw the bodies of the slain where they lay
scattered in the field, saw the soldiers who gently cared for her on
the scene but who now aimed their guns at her face, and finally let
her burning gaze fall on the device that caused all of it.
“I won't
forget.”