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Scent, a horror novella
Lelan Mangrum
0
Script Writer
Writer
Microsoft Word
Arts & Entertainment
Act 1:
Family Matters
Break-ups are the worst. They especially
suck when you've been living together for five
years. Maxwell Hunter is a 32-year old white male
of average build. Right now he's wearing a
System of a Down t-shirt and jeans, and driving a
mini SUV. This mini SUV is filled with boxes of
clothes, books, and whatever else Max was able to
pack within an hour. The band Mindless Self-
Indulgence is blasting on the radio as Max drives a
little over the speed limit away from his apartment.
Their apartment. Dominique's apartment. Most of
Max's thoughts are filled with various curse words
at this moment.
After about an hour of driving, Max arrives
at his destination: His mother's single-story house
in the small town of Ringgold, located in northern
Louisiana. Ringgold is the kind of place one
would give directions to another by referencing the
town's solitary red light. Max thought he had
escaped the small town life back when he moved
in with Dominique in Shreveport, the closest city,
but now he has returned, with his head hanging
low in defeat.
As he pulls up, he notices his mother
waiting for him on the old porch swing in front of
their family home. Her face seems to light up
upon seeing her son. It always does. Marsha is a
58-year old single mom, as Max's father had died
9
just a few years earlier. While not in the best of
shape, Marsha still looks great for her age and puts
a lot of pride into her appearance. She wears a
reasonable amount of make-up, and is dressed up
in a nice purple button up blouse, with matching
slacks. Max typically sums her up as a “super-
Christian lady,” but Marsha doesn't contain a
hateful bone in her body. Max's father never got
used to the idea of a gay son, but Dominique was
very welcome into Marsha's home every
Christmas.
“Hey there, big man,” Marsha says,
greeting her son with a hug. “How are you
holding up?”
“I'll let you know when I figure it out,”
Max replies. “It all happened so fast. I'm still
trying to process it.”
“Well, let's get you settled in. Then we'll
talk it out like we used to,” Marsha says, grabbing
a box out of Max's car. “Mom, you don't have to
do that. It's all my junk. I can carry it in.”
“Nonsense! We're gonna be roommates
now! Roommates help each other move, don't
they?”
After the two finish putting the boxes
inside the house, Max collapses on one of the
kitchen chairs. Marsha's house is small, but just
the right size for two parents to have raised an only
child comfortably. After hearing her son let out a
groan, Marsha asks “Were the boxes that much
trouble for you, sweetie?”
“Ha ha,” Max quips back. “I'm just
10
mentally exhausted. Dominique really let me have
it before dumping me.” Marsha grabs a package of
Oreo cookies out of one of the kitchen cabinets,
and begins pouring the two each a glass of milk.
“So, there was no warning at all? You
never told me you two were having problems.”
“That's because I didn't know there WERE
problems. I've told you before how Dom bottles
things up. I guess he had been bottling this up for
a looooong time.” Marsha sits the glasses at the
table.
“So, you really don't think you guys can
work it out?” Max takes a sip of milk.
“Thanks. And no. He made that one
thousand percent clear. Hence me coming here
with most of my earthly possessions.”
“I'm so sorry to hear that sweetie,” Marsha
says, grabbing an Oreo and dipping it in milk.
“And before you can even ask, stay here as long as
you need to. Or forever. I'm not opposed to the
company.” Max manages a smile and takes an
Oreo from the package.
“Thanks, mom.”
Max walks into his old room to start sorting
through his belongings and making himself at
home. His bedroom is almost exactly as he
remembers it. One corner of the room holds his
twin-sized bed, featuring a shirtless Hugh Jackman
as Wolverine poster right at the head of it. Next to
the bed is a nightstand with a small lamp sitting on
top of it. In another corner is a small desk with a
few high school spelling bee trophies adorning it.
11
In the center is a small closet with a dresser that
keeps the closet door from opening all the way.
The only noticeable change is the addition of a
dusty treadmill in another corner of the room.
Maxwell's nostalgia trip is cut short by the ring of
his cell phone. When he sees “Work” on the
screen, Max decides to hit the “ignore” button.
“Everything alright?” Marsha says, walking
into the open room.
“Yeah, just work calling.”
“Oh. Do you need to go?”
“I didn't answer. I think I'll let one of the
other editors handle it this time. Besides, I don't
think I'd be very productive there anyway,” Max
says.
“Good for you! I'm sure you could use a
break!” Marsha sits on the bed surveying her son's
room as Max continues to put away boxes of
clothes. “You know I loved Dominique, right?”
she asks.
“...yeah?”
“And I'm sorry, but I'm not happy with the
way he treated my son. If you want me to, I can
go knock some sense into him.” Maxwell lets out
a small chuckle. “That's OK, mom. Maybe I'm
better off? I...I really don't know. It's been so long
since I've been single. Hell, I'm dead in gay
years?”
“Gay years?” Marsha inquires. “Yeah,
once you hit thirty, you may as well be dead to
other gay guys.”
“Oh, pish-posh! So you're a little older!
12
Look, I may not agree with the lifestyle-”
“Oh, here we go,” Max thinks to himself. “-
but that doesn't stop me from wanting my son to be
happy. This will pass. You just have to let go and
let God.”
“...alright. Thanks mom.” Marsha can see
Max is clearly in no mood for her style of lifting
spirits.
“Tell you what, big man. Why don't you
and me hit the town tomorrow? Maybe hit up the
boardwalk in Bossier? Grab some Olive Garden?”
“You know, there are places that serve food
besides Olive Garden, right?”
“Hey, don't tell your mother how to live her
life!” Max finally manages a full “Ha!” Marsha
stands up and kisses her son on the forehead. “I'll
see you in the morning, sweetie. I love you.”
“Love you too, mom.” Max finishes
unpacking after about an hour. He then lies in bed,
playing around with his cell phone, checking texts
and Facebook in the off chance Dom has tried to
message him. Before long, sleep begins to take
over. Without thinking, Max slides his phone into
his pocket and quickly passes out, fully clothed.
The next morning, something pressing on
his throat wakes Maxwell up. The pressing
quickly gets tighter and tighter, making it harder to
breath. Struggling to catch his breath, Max opens
his eyes to see his mother sitting on his bed,
choking him. Panic sets in immediately, and Max
tries pushing her off, but with no luck. He looks
into his mother's eyes, which are practically red
13
with rage. She appears very determined to squeeze
the life out of her own son. With no other option,
Max grabs the lamp next to him and smacks his
mother in the face with it. The lamp doesn't break,
but the trauma is enough to knock her off of him.
He quickly leaps out of bed. “Momma, what's
going on? What did I do?” Marsha begins to right
herself on the bed, and begins screaming
“Abomination! Unclean! I know what you do! I
know what you did in this bed! You don't deserve
this life!” Tears streaming down his face, Max
tries to find the words to reason with his mother,
but she doesn't give him much time as she lunges
for him. Max quickly runs outside the room and
slams the door shut. On instinct, he grabs a small
table from the hallway and leans it against the
doorknob, making it harder to open. While he
braces the door, his mother continues shouting “I
hate you! I never should have had you! He hated
you too!”
Maxwell makes a mad dash for the kitchen,
grabbing his keys and wallet. He runs outside to
his car. As he pulls out of the driveway, Marsha
runs out of the house, wielding a kitchen knife.
Max slams on the gas petal. He begins driving,
with no destination in mind. He pulls into The
Corner Store, a local convenience store/gas station
right next to Ringgold High School, Max's Alma
mater. As Max opens his car door, the front doors
to the gas station burst open. One of the employees
barrels out of it, slamming a customer into one of
the gas pumps. “Please! Stop! What did I do?!?”
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pleads the customer. The employee is a tall and
stocky black man, wearing a button up shirt with a
name tag that reads 'John.' Max notices the rage in
the aggressor’s eyes seem to match those of his
mother's.
“Faggot!” the employee yells, while
kicking the man laying on the ground. The one
taking the beating is a smaller sized black man,
wearing a pair of khakis and a polo shirt. A couple
of other employees, both women dressed in casual-
wear, step outside and begin to watch. The victim
tries to make a break for it, but one of the other gas
station workers cuts him off. The main aggressor
grabs the man's neck with his arm from behind and
throws him to the ground. “John” holds the man
down by the neck with his foot. One of the
employees grabs one of the gas pumps. About this
time, the victim notices Max looking on. As they
make eye contact, the victim mouths the word
“Help.” As Max quickly fumbles to dial 911 on
his cell phone, 'John' begins to pour gas on the
victim. The three drag him away from the pumps
and the other female employee pulls out a lighter.
Max looks on in horror as she lights it and drops it
onto the man without hesitation. As Max watches
the man burn, 911 answers with “We are
experiencing higher than normal call volumes at
this time. Please hang up and try again.” The
three look on at the burning body with glee. As
Max tries to call again, “John” lifts his nose in the
air, as if catching a scent. The two women seem to
notice the smell as well. The three turn and notice
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Max for the first time.
“Oh god,” Max lets out as he quickly
cranks his car and slams his door shut. The three
start running toward the vehicle, but Max peels out
just in the nick of time.
Trying to catch his bearings while driving,
Max turns on the radio. “Another report has come
in of a savage beating, this time at a home in
Minden-” Max switches the station.
“6 people are dead at the Airline Drive
Walmart-” Max changes the station.
“We just received word of a head-on
collision between three vehicles on Youree Drive-”
Another station.
“During this time, we are advising people
to stay inside and lock their doors-wait, what are
you doing? Stop I-”
“Fag! Murder you, you queer fuck!” The
sound of a microphone repeatedly hitting the
temple of a man is sickening, but it's enough for
Max to begin piecing things together.
“They're targeting gay people?” With this,
Max now has a destination. Dominique's
apartment.
According to Max, Dom is an “African-
American god among men.” Dominique would
probably just describe himself as an average gay
man that happens to enjoy going to the gym. He
has a very fit physique, with a smoothly shaved
head to match. He's currently wearing a black
tank-top, with pajama bottoms featuring Star Wars
characters printed on them. Since yesterday, Dom
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has been in an odd state of flux. After finally
letting Max have it, he feels a little guilty.
However, he's also feeling a strong sense of
freedom. Dominique starts his “brand new day,”
as he's been calling it, by making breakfast.
Dominique will unfortunately have no time to
process these new emotions, or his eggs, as his
new-found freedom is interrupted by a very heavy
pounding on his door.
The second Dom cracks the door open,
Max bursts inside. “Shut the door! And lock it!”
Max yells. “What the hell, Max? If this is some
kind of romantic gesture, that ship has sailed.”
“Are you OK?”
“Well, obviously you're not. Look, I know
I said some harsh things yesterday-”
“Jesus Christ, have you not turned on a
television today?”
“Why, what happ-”
“The city's gone to hell, Dom.”
Max turns on the single television in their
once-shared living room. He puts it on MSNBC
first, which shows several live shots of vicious
murders taking place in very public locations. A
man is beat to death right outside a Wendy's. A
homeless woman is repeatedly stabbed inside a
homeless shelter. Various high schools are homes
to extremely brutal massacres. “Oh god, it's worse
than I thought,” Max says. “What on earth is
going on?” Dom asks.
“These aren't isolated incidents, Dom.
They're happening here, too.” Max changes the
17
channel to KTBS, the local ABC affiliate.
After running a clip of one man shooting
up a gas station, the camera comes back to the
studio, with two empty chairs where the anchors
should be sitting. Dominique gives Maxwell a
confused look before audio starts becoming clear.
“Dyke bitch! I saw the way you looked at
her!” can be heard from a male voice yelled from
off-camera. “Please stop! Just let me leave!” Dom
and Max hear a voice plead. The camera shifts a
little as someone is pushed past it and onto the
anchor desk. The two anchors approach the
bleeding woman desperately trying to catch her
breath. With no hesitation, the female anchor
grabs the woman by the hair and pulls her head
back exposing her neck. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!
I didn't mean anything by it! Why are you doing
this?” the woman continues to plead. The male
anchor begins punching their victim in the neck
repeatedly until her voice becomes blood.
Dominique turns off the television before they can
finish the job.
Horrified, Dom retreats to one of the chairs
in the living room. “Wha-what the hell did you just
show me? Is this some kind of joke?”
“I wish it was.”
“I don't understand. Why are people doing
this? And why aren't we affected?”
“I...have a theory about that. Put on
LOGO.”
“You do it. I don't think I can look at the
TV for a while.”
18
Max turns the television back on, and plugs
in the numbers for the LOGO channel, MTV's gay-
friendly network. Like almost every other
network, LOGO's morning news show focuses on
the violent murders taking place in broad daylight.
The two male anchors weigh in on the footage
they're watching. “Once again, we must apologize
to our viewers for the unedited footage seen here,”
one of the anchors states. “And we apologize for
the violence and language frequent in each video,
however, we feel this is important for our viewers
to see, especially the language used here.”
“That's right. With each of these vicious
murders, one common thing can be discerned from
each. Homophobic slurs.”
“It seems all of the attackers harbor some
sort of ill-will to our community. The question is,
how was this organized? We will continue to
investigate and-”
“Queers! Spouting your bile for all the
world to hear!” another man shouts from off-
camera. The camera pulls back, and a man can be
seen rushing out from behind-the-scenes toward
the two anchors. One of the camera-men tries to
push him back, but the man quickly shoves his
fingers into the camera-man's eyes. While the
camera-man reels back in pain, the man grabs him
by the neck, but before he can do anything, he's
tackled by an assistant producer. “You can't stop
me, you dyke cunt! I'll end this! You'll all die!”
The AP knocks him out and gives the man still
behind the camera a 'did you get that?' look. She
19
then motions back to the anchors. The camera
once again focuses on them.
“Is-is he alright?” one of the anchor asks
about the camera-man, bleeding from his eyes.
The other anchor notices they're still on the air and
gives his partner a nudge. “Oh! Right. That
was...unexpected. We apologize for the
interruption. That attacker was...our executive
producer. While straight, he has always been a
champion for LGBT rights and has fought
specifically for this show to air for years. I-I don't
know what to make of this.”
Max once again turns off the television.
“Do you see what's happening now?”
“They're...after gay people?”
“Looks that way.”
“But that guy was the head of their show,
why would he-”
“I don't think they have control over
themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom...”
“Oh my god, Max. She attacked you? Are
you OK?”
“I'm definitely not OK, Dom. I had to
knock my mother off of me with a lamp because
she was trying to choke me to death. I have no
fucking clue what's going on here, and I'm scared
to fucking death right now. I'm sorry I just showed
up after you made it clear you never wanted to see
me again, but I had literally nowhere else to go.
You get that, right?”
20
“Yeah, I do. Look, you can stay here as
long as you need. At least until we figure things
out.”
“You don't understand. Neither of us can
stay here. We're in an apartment complex
surrounded by straight people who all probably
want to murder us now. We need to leave. And
soon.”
“Leave? And go where?”
Before Max can answer, the two are
interrupted by another pounding on the door.
“Dominique? Maxwell? Can you both
come on out here? I'll make it quick and easy on
you!” an old lady quips from outside.
“Christ, Dom. Is that Ms. Gertrude?”
“Speaking of straight people...Just let her
be, Max. She's eighty-three. How much damage
could she do?”
Max sneakily looks through the peephole,
and turns white at the site. He quietly pushes
Dominique towards the fire escape. “Considering
she has a shotgun, a lot. Grab what you can and
let's go,” Max whispers. Dom fumbles around the
room in a panic. “Oh god. Oh god. Let's see.
Wallet. Keys. Should I pack a bag?”
“NOW DOMINIQUE!”
“Alright! Alright! Geez, give a man a
minute to get his shit togeth-”
Dominique is once again interrupted by the
loud
BLAM
of a shotgun tearing through his door.
Ms. Gertrude kicks open the splintered door with
zero effort and enters the room. Max grabs Dom
21
and the two tear out through the fire escape while
the elderly woman fires wildly into what was once
their apartment. “Sickos! Perverts! I always
knew! You can't hide from me! Don't try to run!”
The second they hit the ground after
leaving three flights of stairs, Dom and Max run.
“Shit! I left my keys!” Dom yells. “We'll take
mine. Come on!” As the two make their way to
Max's car, Ms. Gertrude walks out onto their fire
escape and fires off one more shot. One of the
shotgun pellets narrowly misses Dom's head as the
lady tries firing off another round. She curses
when she realizes she's out of shells and throws the
gun toward the two. It doesn't make it very far,
and collapses harmlessly at the bottom of the
stairwell.
Dom and Max get into the vehicle and
make their way for parts unknown. “So, Max,
where are we going?”
“I...honestly, have no clue.”
“What? I thought you said you had a
plan!”
“Yeah! That plan is to fucking survive!
Look, we'll try to find some place remote where
we can gather our thoughts?”
“Maybe some place on the lake?”
“You read my mind.”
As the two continue on, with a formal
destination in mind, Max drives through back
roads in Shreveport behind and between several
old, abandoned buildings. “Why not take the
interstate?”
22
“Well, Dom, according to the news,
populated areas seem to be death traps right about
now. So, I'd like to avoid that if possib-SHIT!”
As he takes a turn, Max comes bumper to
bumper with a gigantic green Hummer. With a
loud
SCREECH
both vehicles manage to come to a
complete stop before colliding with each other. “I
thought these back-roads weren't supposed to be
populated?”
“Not now, Dom.”
Before Max can make his next move, the
passenger door of the Hummer opens up. A
twenty-something, skinny, Asian man steps out,
with a pistol pointed right at Max. The gunman is
wearing a tight-fitting red Under Armour shirt with
a pair of jeans. The driver door opens up, and a
much older white man steps out. “Michael! What
are you doing?” the older man yells out. The older
man is wearing a nice striped button up long-
sleeved shirt with khakis, as well as a very
expensive-looking wedding ring.
“Out of the vehicle” the gunman
commands.
“Look, man, you don't have to do this,”
Max pleads.
“Yeah, I kinda do. Now step out.” Max
begins to get out of the vehicle, as does Dom.
“Michael, what is the point of this? We
need to get out of here before more people show
up!” the older man exclaims.
“Call it a hunch Sen-I mean Rich. If the
world's really gone to shit, we're gonna need all the
23
help we can get. And neither of them look like
they want to take our heads off.”
“Yes! No one wants to take anyone's heads
off! Let's leave all our heads where they are,
yeah?” Dom says. Michael points the gun at Dom,
who immediately throws his hands in the air.
“Hey, you look familiar. Weren't you at
Central a couple of nights ago?” Michael asks
Dominique exchanges a glance before
admitting “Uh, yeah. I was.”
“I thought that was you! Man, you were
tearing UP that dance floor!” Michael says,
lowering the gun. Maxwell gives Dom a
judgmental look and says “So you decided to go
clubbing a few nights before you dumped me,
huh?” Before Dominique can respond, Michael is
grabbed from behind by the neck with an old rusty
pipe. The young woman holding the pipe quips
“Sorry to interrupt your catching up, but you guys
have something I need.”
“Man, this day just keeps getting better and
better” Dom quips.
“Please! I'll give you anything you want!
Just don't hurt him!” the older man yells.
“Just your gun and your keys and we'll be
on our way.” she responds.
“Did you say 'we'?” Max asks.
“You don't worry about that. And you.
Keys. Now.” The older man hands her his car
keys. “Thanks. Now, for the gun.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
The woman squeezes the pipe tighter.
24
“You really wanna try me today?”
“What the hell are you doing, girl?” the
group hears behind them. Up walks an elderly
black woman with a very disappointed look on her
face.
“Annette! I told you to stay hidden!”
Annette is wearing a very flowery sundress, and
has short, very well-kept hair. Her scowl makes
her age show even more than anything else about
her. “Don't Annette me! We're robbing people
now? Where's that gonna get us?”
“We have to do whatever it takes to
survive! And how do we know they're not affected
by whatever it was that caused those other people
to try to kill us?”
“Maybe because they're not trying to kill
you right now? I saw the look in those men's eyes.
I've never seen a rage that great. You know what I
see in these men's eyes? Fear. Fear from you.”
The young woman hesitates, and begins to
loosen her grip on the pipe just a little. “Wait,
we've met, right? Kira? That's you, right?”
Maxwell asks. Kira looks at Maxwell, and slowly
recognizes him.
“Oh! It's Max, right? You were the editor
at the paper that did my interview, right?”
“Can we maybe play catch-up without a
pipe crushing my neck?”
“Alright. Just...please don't do anything
stupid.” Kira throws the pipe away, and Michael
calmly walks away, with the older man running to
his aid.
25
“Oh god, I thought you were-I was so
worried!”
“I'm fine! Just get the car running. We'll
need to leave ASAP.” The older man seems a little
put-off by this, but obliges and re-enters the
Hummer.
“So, he said your name was Michael?”
Dom asks.
“Just Mike, actually.”
“So, Mike...do the two of you have some
place you were speeding off to? Or were you just
driving around aimlessly like us?”
“Actually, the old man has a nice place on
the lake. It's not completely cut off from everyone,
but it'll do until we figure out something better.”
“So, the old man. Is-is that who I think it
is?
“Yup. Kinda fucked up, right?”
While Mike and Dom plan the group's next
move, Kira and Max catch up. Max points out the
bandage wrapped around Kira's forehead, which
has a small amount of blood seeping through it.
“Pretty nasty battle scar. Is that from fighting the
good fight, or from today's free-for-all?”
“The latter. Met up with a gay-basher on
the way to my office this morning. I'd probably be
dead right now if Annette here hadn't saved my
life.”
“Maybe you can fill him in on the fine
details along the way. It looks like we're heading
out,” Annette interrupts, pointing to Dom and
Mike rallying everyone together. Mike and Rich
26
take the lead in their Hummer, with Annette and
Kira riding backseat inside Dom and Max's SUV.
With their convoy of two, the group heads to Lake
Bisteneau.
On the road, Kira's thoughts begin to run
wild. She thinks about the life she's probably
leaving behind. She's thinking about how things
went from zero-to-fucked up in just one day...
27
Kira
Kira Goodson looks like your prototypical
punk rock girl. Her typical dress includes the
word “cut-off” in some capacity, a witty t-shirt,
lots of politically-inclined buttons, and her well-
maintained blue mohawk. She can normally be
seen at various human rights events, working at the
local LGBT shelter, or talking politics online.
Other than her volunteer work, Kira LIVES
online. Quick to chime in on a Facebook thread to
tear down a “Men's Rights Activist” or two, her
online reputation earned her the name of
“Feminazi,” which she displays with pride as her
Twitter handle. What started as simply jumping
into online arguments quickly snowballed into
blog posts, videos, and finally, a permanent
position as editor-and-chief at a feminist website.
Being head of a feminist website comes
with its fair share of harassment and even death
threats. Kira takes it all in stride, and is quick to
expose anyone that thinks women should remain
silent. To make things more challenging, Kira
lives in the south, where online threats can become
very real. Having dodged several near-misses, her
online co-workers often ask Kira to relocate. She
refuses, stating that change can't happen if she runs
away from her place of birth.
Most recently, Kira's office had a major
celebration a few years back as the United States
28
congress passed a law that finally allowed for gay
marriage. The celebration was a little bitter-sweet,
as Kira became all too aware of how just alone she
was. Sure, there had been a hook-up or two here
and there, but Kira's position as “head feminist of
the internet” scared away most suitors. Her
longest relationship lasted about six months, but it
crumbled amid yet another death threat.
Even with the law passed, Kira knew
homophobia wasn't going anywhere. Locally, it
actually seemed to get worse, as the gay marriage
buzz gave bigoted bystanders a podium to stand on
and go on tirades about. Doubling her efforts, Kira
put everything into bringing the community
together. She began making more connections
than ever before. One of these connections
quickly became a source of LGBT news,
sometimes before proper media outlets were able
to break it.
Last night, Kira had a meeting with this
source at the local LGBT-friendly coffee shop.
This source was a straight woman, but worked in a
position or two that would give insight into how
the government handled their gay and lesbian
citizens. Over the meeting she told Kira that a
certain very vocally anti-gay member of the
Louisiana government was on the verge of getting
exposed in a homosexual affair. They were just
waiting on a tape.
Kira couldn't help but feel excitement. As
much as she's dealt with homophobes and death-
threats, something about closeted political leaders
29
that try to destroy their own community really gets
under her skin. After getting home, Kira did a
little channel surfing as she prepped for a video
shoot scheduled for tomorrow. She fell asleep
wondering which homophobic member of
government she'd get to soon take down.
Kira wakes up on her own, noticing her
alarm didn't go off. “Shit,” she mutters as she
checks the time. About twenty minutes late, she
hurriedly grabs a shower and gets dressed. Her
phone has about thirty notifications, but she
assumes they're all about the video shoot and
ignores them.
Pulling into the parking lot, Kira notices
several cars missing. She gets out of her car,
wondering if the shoot was canceled. As she
walks toward her office, she's stopped by a very
loud voice. “Dique!” Kira does a double take at
the Mexican man walking her way very quickly.
“I'm sorry? Can I help you?”
“Voy a matarte, dique!” the man yells out.
Kira begins to run into the office, but the man
grabs her by the arm. “VOY A MATARTE,
DIQUE!” The man punches Kira in the head,
drawing blood. Kira falls to the ground. The man
yells some more as Kira can hear a small engine
start up in the distance. The man grabs Kira by the
neck and lifts her up against the wall. He makes a
fist, but is interrupted by someone yelling “Hey
asshole!” The man looks back, and an elderly
black woman zips by on a Vespa scooter, knocking
him out with a cane. Annette gets off the scooter
30
and helps Kira back up. “Quick. Get inside before
he gets up.”
The two run into Kira's office.
Immediately, Kira notices the place is completely
vacant. “Are you alright, girl?” Annette asks.
“Yeah, he mostly just freaked me out a
little. Now, where is everyone?”
“Sweetie, you're bleeding.” Kira feels her
forehead and sees blood on her fingers.
“Well, that's great. Um...there's a first-aid
kit in the break room. Third door on the left.
Would you mind?”
“No problem. You just sit tight.” Annette
heads toward the break room as Kira enters her
office. On her computer's monitor is a post-it note
which simply reads “Had to get out. Hope you're
safe!” Kira turns her head and looks out her
window. She has a great view of the guy Annette
knocked out, who seems to be coming to. Annette
walks in with some bandages. “Hey, looks like
he's coming to.” The two watch the man as
Annette wraps up Kira's head with bandages.
The man gets to his feet. He lets out a
scream, then kicks over Annette's Vespa. He
seems to calm down for a bit, and looks a little
disoriented. This doesn't last, as his nose catches
the air. Once he catches a scent, he runs off
toward it in a rage.
“Savage. Like some kind of animal.”
Annette states.
“Yeah, I wonder what his deal is. And
more importantly, where did all my co-workers
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go?”
“Think it had anything to do with him?”
“I dunno. Let me check my e-mail here
and see what all the fuss is about.” Annette notices
the television sitting on the side of the office.
“Would you mind?”
“Go ahead.” Kira answers. Between the
television news and Kira's internet feed, the two
quickly understand what's going on around them.
“Jesus Christ. So we're being targeted.” Kira looks
at Annette.
“Wait. Does this mean you're-”
“Well, I guess so. I...haven't really thought
about it in years, but I guess I'm 'out' now.”
“You know, in all of this I didn't catch your
name.”
“I'm Annette. Annette St. Croix.”