Step by Step/Issue 23

This is Issue #23 of Step by Step. This is the fifth issue of Volume Four.

'''NOTE: THIS IS VERY UNEDITTED, AND IS UNFINISHED. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.'''

Depiction
Ash covered the floor like dirty snow, a pristine layer of charcoal-colored obscured the floor, burying it like a valley of soil. Papers and all fluttered in the air, burning amongst the cracking air, with the stale air agitating Carter's throat, and roasting the ribbon of flesh that led into his stomach. His belly churned, eyes watery as he opened the door and walked, very slowly, into the main office. Shafts of light broke through the boarded up windows, light streamed into the cooking clinic at first and then throughout the entire offices. It was absolute silence, for the most part, with no signs of life inside. Carter stood, peacefully and taking in full breaths of the gaseous air.

It was peaceful, almost enlightening. His mind was a clear bubble, a strong bubble where thoughts were non-existent. His arm felt better, much better. The room's only other occupants, dead as they were, were strewn on the rubble. Carter knelt beside one of the bodies, though at a glance it looked more like a cocoon. It was one of the refugees, which Carter could tell after a long observation. The person, unrecognizable, was one of the nurse's radicals. No uniform on them, though if there had been it most likely would have been scorched and burnt a dark tint.

Carter got up, the cascading fumes twirling around him. The place had a yellowish, fiery haze that hung in the air. The rich, burning smell of the fire permeated the room, tails of silvery smoke combed through the copper air, pushing the flames with the pull of the air. Set alight were the velvet curtains, the fabric of the chairs and cots where some of the radicals had taken to, and the carpet. The rafters crashed into the floor, a cloud of dust springing into Carter's face, and then the floor itself seemed to burn. Varied colors of flame, though all had the unpredictability of nature, stormed around and knocked down the door which led out to the hall.

On a roll. Carter walked through the smoldering ruins, noticing a rifle cradled in the arms of one of the bodies, a woman's. A brown, turbid blood formed on her chest, and once Carter spun his head around at the other bodies, he noticed that they'd all met their end with the same rifle, not by the fire. His chest started to pulsate, the buzzing of the flames making ear-splitting sounds now, but Carter was having the time of his life, if not for the damn silence.

Silence gnawed at her insides, digging a gaping void in him. He needed to hear himself, hear words or anything else besides the fire. The silence itself was more poisonous than the cancerous air, and it did a better job at choking the life out of him. Carter wasn't used to this silence, it wasn't quiet like in a library, but instead was eerily unnatural, like a a road with no stuttering cars at mid-day. At first, it'd been peaceful, but now it was noisy with the silence, and it leeched the feeling out of his pores.

"Anybody here?"

He imagined Caroline calling back, talking to him from the dead. It sent a chill down his back, which was now slick with sweat, cold sweat. He had just about had it. Carter took the rifle from Susie, ejecting the magazine and, to his surprise, finding out that they had used what was left of the magazine. All at once, he discovered that he was at the center of a graveyard. He found himself screaming, his lungs suddenly exploding with pain, and his hands going around for something to cover his face with.

The fire leaped into the air, devouring the oxygen like an famished beast and belched out big black smoke. Carter swiped up something, a piece of lined paper from a stack, but then all of paper escaped into the yellow, glowing haze. Carter swore, pulling his shirt collar upwards to his nose, and hit the floor with his chest. From below, he saw the smoke had risen to the top, overflowing like a balloon until the temptation to rupture it had grown to big to resist.

He could hear himself think now, and his heart throbbing. The fire had microwaved his lungs, as he now felt them withering. He was dying. Breathing was more easy, as cooler air was brought into his nose and left his mouth, satisfying him. Carter crawled along the floor, passing the clinic where the cots were up in flames, and the floor was covered in piles of ash, burning his fingertips.

Someone shouted from outside.

It couldn't have been the dead people, they don't talk. The voice, short as it was, seemed familiar. Carter moved up, his exposed belly dragging itself along the hell, so he could breath. It was worth it, as soon he was at the door, well where the door should have been. A two-foot tall flame sprouted in the air, before falling downwards as its smoke lingered for a while. Carter crossed over it, not giving a shit whether he died then and there, but cared that he at least would have the dignity of escaping the hellhole.

The hallway wasn't any better, and if anything it had more blackened cocoons.

Carter saw, two people only, in the hall. One was to his left, standing upright, and the other hunched over a body in the eye of the firestorm. That was all he saw because then, as if a whip had been cracked, the walls began to shake. The wallpapers had begun to burn, and the fire had continued to rampage through the school. His blood began to boil, and he figured it wouldn't get any worse, but then he heard a shrilling moan.

To his left, where Lyle stood, a parade of undead slowly made their way to them. Carter stood up, cracking his joints, and reached for his holster, but he came back empty-handed. The holster was burning hot, but he made another effort and yanked out his pistol. He couldn't see at first, blinded by both the water in his eyes and the smoke. His vision narrowed, becoming thinner and thinner, and Carter thought he was on the brink of passing out.

In a flash of light, a great surge of heat and flame flooded the hall, and he saw through slim eyes that Lyle had jumped out one of the windows. He wobbled on his feet, twisting in the windy ash, and cursed everyone from Brock to the damn mailman. His legs started to weigh like cinder blocks, while the rest of him swayed in the air like a scarecrow. and then splat.

His head instantly hurt, pain shooting into his head, though the painkillers muffled some of it. His back was burning, one of his sleeves had caught a spark and had erupted in flames, so he patted it until he was met with the wispy, black remains of cloth. It was then that he realized he was on a roll. He was still alive, sprawled out on the ground, yet surrounded by flames.

Before he could question this fate, the fire shot out a yellow hand into the outside through the window, and the heat so great it set alight even the outside walls. Carter moved, slowly at first but then regained motion, until he felt someone take hold him of him. His first reaction was, obviously, to grab his holster, but in the afternoon sun he saw his skin had been replaced with layers of dust and grime, so he let whatever force of nature had decided to drag him, drag him. Though, he did feel some relief when he found out he was being taken away from the scene by someone who was alive.