The Dawn of the Lost: Prequel to The Lost and the Wicked by Cesar Gonzalez Read Free Book Online

move.
    Loud thumps slam on the car door. I turn to the sight of a woman begging for us to open the door. A pair of girls, about my age, are banging on the back door.
    Giza reaches for the door handle. The traumatized part of my brain tells me to not open the door. It tells me to keep it closed and get away from this place as quickly as possible.
    “We can’t just leave them out there alone,” cries Giza. She reaches for the door handle again. This time I grab her arm and pull it back. She turns at me, her face registering shock. “Why are you doing this?”
    “That white gas infected some of the people. There is no way of knowing who could be next.”
    The woman bangs on the window again. She presses her face to the glass. That’s when I notice the drool that is now dripping from her mouth. Her eyes, too, have grown a deep shade of red.
    Oh. Heck no! I press on the accelerator and drive away, leaving the sounds of death and suffering behind. This time, I don’t look back.
    ≈≈≈
    The first of the night’s stars have begun to show their light as I finally drive the car out of the alleyway where I had hidden the car for the half the day.
    After we left the flesh-eating people behind, we only ran into more havoc. Massive lines of cars jammed together as red rays of light fell from the sky, obliterating anything in their path. Cars lit up like fireworks as they were hit and blew up instantly.
    It quickly became clear that, if we were to survive, we had to hide and hope for the best. We drove into an empty alleyway nestled between two buildings and waited for a sign that the attack had subsided.
    The city, so full of screams, police and ambulance sirens, car crashes, explosions, and shattered glass a mere hour ago, has now become eerily silent.
    Giza turns the knob of the radio. Like me, I’m sure she’s hoping to get some kind of information, anything, that can explain what caused this. But the sound of static is the only thing that bursts through the speakers. She sighs deeply and turns it off.
    The gravel under the wheels crunches softly as I swerve to avoid yet another car that lies overturned in the middle of the street. Dark smoke flows out of its engine.
    All the buildings we pass wear the signs of an attack. Some more than others. The circular City Hall building has been reduced to a miserable pile of rubbles. The Sharpton Inn, which used to stand twenty stories high, has had the top ten stories completely blown off. Flames have engulfed what is left of it.
    “Someone is going to pay for this,” I say, talking to myself as my mouth grows dry. How many people died today? How many brothers? How many sisters? How many uncles? How many parents?
    Seemingly ignoring my small rant, Giza points at a dust-engraved sign that miraculously is still standing, albeit a bit more crookedly than normal. It reads: Keep Right for Point Loma.
    Following directions, I turn sharply to the right, struggling to guide the car around a corpse that looks charred beyond recognition.
    Giza’s hands travel to her chest, where they remain. Her face grows ghostly pale.
    I stop the car, knowing full well that there is no use going into Point Loma. We are up high, so we have a clear view of the graveyard below us. The entire section of city has been engulfed in sand. The tops of a few of the taller buildings barely manage to peak out the moon-drenched dirt.
    “John,” Giza mumbles under her breath. Tears fall from her eyes.
    I stammer for a second, unsure of what to do. Giza and I have been friends since kindergarten. But in all those years, I have never seen her cry.
    Recalling a movie I saw a few years back, I reach out for her and wrap my arm around her. She continues to sob as rests her head on my chest. Her warm breath caresses my neck, and a shiver runs down from my neck to my toes.
    The warm feeling, however, is quickly replaced by anger. A deep red rage unlike any I have ever felt before. Someone declared war on us. Attacked us