Chapter 2: A Ruined Welcome
Mark Wilson and Frank Salemme walked slowly through the streets of Walton, bags slung over their shoulders. This was the city where humanity had first evolved—and the first to be wiped out.
The three- or four-story buildings stood tall, but were covered in dust. Algae clung to their walls and windows. The city felt green and raw, like a forest that had eaten the concrete.
Mark was holding a paper, looking on it. “Patrick McMilian. He did many great deeds. Quite fascinating scientist he seems. Oh, he explained how Enora Virus worked. The main cause of the Virus is a wound. Enora gets inside mostly from wounds. It will kill a man within a day. Its symptoms are dizziness and vomiting.”
“Also madness, if they survived the virus. He seems to forget that,” Frank said.
“Do people survive from Enora Virus?”
“Yes, an asshole survived who shouldn’t have been.”
Mark focused on the paper again. “Worked with Patinson, Femir… Frank… You worked with him?”
“I did.”
“What’s your relation with him?”
Frank stopped and stared at the ground for a moment like he was some important person for him. “Is he some…”
Frank was still staring at the road, and suddenly he eyed Mark. “You’ll get nothing knowing that.”
“I feel sorry for him,” Mark said after a moment of silence. “He lost his sister, Maria, recently and now living in this doomed city.”
Frank took out his locket and stared at it. “Yet the pain is still unmatched.”
Mark looked at Frank. “Maybe it’s never going to match.”
Frank said on Mark’s face. “But vengeance, that can.”
Mark paused, frowning his brows. And he said, “You loved his sister?” Frank stepped ahead without the response, but Mark understood what that meant. “Please don’t make me a stranger, Frank. We’re friends.”
Frank stopped and turned toward a house, staring up and down. And he turned toward Mark. “I don’t have any friends.”
“Fine. Then why did you help me? Why did you join me in IFA?”
“It was my duty.”
Mark took a breath. “A man who lives only for his mission.”
Frank looked at him again with red eyes. “You’d better stay quiet.”
Mark stared at him, trying to understand. “Her love has blinded you, Frank.”
Suddenly, Frank jumped forward, grasping Mark’s suit collars tightly with anger. Those blazing eyes were terrifying. Mark could feel the anger inside Frank. “Motherfucker!” Frank shouted.
Suddenly, they heard a noise from a nearby building. It sounded like falling metal—maybe utensils. And only then Frank released the collars.
Mark took a long breath.
Frank froze for a moment. Without a word, he pulled the pistol from his side, and whispered, “Get your damn Lifesaver.” Then he walked toward the building where the sound had come from.
The house was old and dark. Curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the little sunlight that remained. Three small rooms were connected by a central hallway.
Frank went in first, gun in hand. Mark followed behind, holding his own pistol. As they entered the kitchen, a strong, rotten, sharp, and disgusting smell hit them.
The floor was covered with old utensils and broken dishes. They covered their noses and quickly stepped back into the hallway.
“Where’s McMillan?” Mark whispered.
Frank moved forward, raising his voice slightly. “Mr. McMillan?” He opened a door at the end of the hall.
Inside, the room was quiet and neat. The bed was made. Two books lay open on the desk, and a small lamp was still glowing.
Mark looked around. “He must be here,” he said.
Frank nodded. He walked slowly to another door and opened it carefully.
The room was dim. A table sat in the center, surrounded by chairs. On the floor lay the body of an old man. A gun was beside him. A note rested on his chest.
Frank froze. His voice cracked. “Mr. McMillan!”
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