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Page 11: Desperate Exodus

 

Seamus's breath caught in his throat as he realized the direness of his situation. "Could be," he whispered under his breath, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

 

"What was that?" The soldier leered, his smirk chilling in its nonchalance. With a harsh shove, he pressed the cold barrel of his rifle into Seamus's spine, propelling him forward against the unforgiving surface of the wall. Seamus's mind raced, calculating the fleeting moments he had to disarm the soldier before he turned away, leaving Seamus trapped and defenseless.

 

But then, abruptly, the soldier halted and yanked the rifle away. "Holy shit!" he bellowed, his voice ricocheting off the walls with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Look, guys! It’s fuckin' Seamus Nolan. The fuckin' World Champ!"

 

From down the line, another soldier's voice crackled over the radio, urgent and sharp. "I have eyes on the UN. They're headed straight for us." His words were followed by a stern command. "Save your ammo, soldiers. You’re gonna need it."

 

Confusion and orders swirled into a cacophony as the military personnel scrambled into a defensive formation. Seamus furrowed his brows, puzzled. "Why are they setting up a defensive position for the UN? Aren’t they on the same side?" he murmured to himself, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the unfolding chaos.

 

"Hey, McGregor, this way," called a familiar voice from the throng. Seamus turned, spotting the young black kid dressed like a magician, beckoning him urgently. "This way!" The kid tugged at Seamus's arm, pulling him back towards the house's rear entrance.

 

Seamus hesitated, torn between the instinct to flee and the uncertain safety of the house. His decision was made for him as a surge of panic swept through the crowd. Men, women, and children—desperation etched on their faces—rushed toward the back entrance, their movements frantic.

 

"No!" A soldier's scream sliced through the turmoil, his voice a harbinger of doom. "Don’t let them leave!" In a heartbeat, the air was split by the sound of gunfire. Bullets whizzed mercilessly into the crowd of frantic civilians as they stampeded toward safety, each shot a deadly strike against the innocent.

 

Seamus's heart hammered against his ribs, fury and fear intermingling with each pulse. As the crowd surged around him, he felt the kid's grip tighten, a lifeline amidst the bedlam. With each echoing gunshot, Seamus's resolve hardened. He wouldn't let this end here—not like this, not amidst this senseless violence.

 

As the tide of desperate survivors swept him along, Seamus's gaze locked on the soldiers. Their faces were masks of duty, yet their eyes—cold and resolute—belied the horror of their actions. This was a nightmare unfolding in real-time, and Seamus Nolan found himself at the heart of it, propelled by a single, burning need to survive and protect those caught in the crossfire.

 

Seamus turned his attention toward the back entrance just in time to see the kid already there, clutching the doorknob and urgently waving him over. "Get in!" the kid shouted, stepping inside. As soon as Seamus crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud behind them.

 

Seamus spun around to confront the kid, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would you close..." His voice trailed off as he took in his surroundings. The dimly lit interior he expected was nowhere to be seen. Instead, they stood in the open air in front of a house on the next block over. The transition was so seamless, so disorientingly swift, that Seamus's mind reeled.

 

"How did you do that, kid? Who are you?" Seamus demanded his tone a mixture of awe and suspicion.

 

The kid looked up at him, an impish grin spreading across his youthful features. "The name is Miles Away, but you can call me Miles," he replied with a mysterious twinkle in his eye.

 

Seamus studied Miles, trying to make sense of the situation. The kid's casual demeanor and the inexplicable feat they had just accomplished hinted at abilities far beyond the ordinary. Seamus's world had been one of tangible, physical challenges of opponents met and overcome in the ring or on the streets. But this—this was something else entirely, something that defied his understanding of reality.

 

"Magic, then? Is that it?" Seamus asked, half-joking yet not entirely ready to dismiss the possibility.

 

Miles chuckled the sound light and unburdened. "Something like that," he said. "It's a little trick I've picked up. Comes in handy, doesn't it?"

 

Seamus nodded slowly, his mind still racing as he processed the implications. If what he'd just experienced was indeed real, then perhaps there were depths to this crisis, to the world itself, that he had yet to comprehend. Miles, this seemingly ordinary kid with an extraordinary name and even more extraordinary abilities, had just expanded the boundaries of what Seamus thought possible.

 

"Right, Miles Away," Seamus said with a renewed sense of purpose. "Let's see where else these 'tricks' of yours can take us. And you're going to need to explain a lot more on the way."

 

Miles looked at Seamus sideways. “Hold on now, McGregor. I ain’t no got-damn leprechaun. Do the fuck I look magically delicious? Don’t answer. You may need to register.”

 

“What? Look, kid!” Seamus's voice was stern.

 

“No, you look, McGregor.” Miles pointed.

 

“Look, son.”

 

“No! You, LOOK!” Miles pointed with excitement. Seamus turned and noticed a group of four undead men rushing toward them frantically. “Come on!” Miles pulled Seamus back inside.

 

 

Overwhelmed and disoriented, Seamus scanned the living room of the empty house they had just entered. He glanced behind him, suspicion and curiosity mingling in his gaze. “Did we just step out of that closet?” he asked, pointing towards the small, unassuming closet door. Opening it again, he confirmed it was just an ordinary, empty space. “Where are we?” Seamus moved toward a window, trying to get his bearings.

 

“I don’t know, man. Do I look like Mr. Rent 'ems? I had to run through this son of a bitch earlier,” Miles retorted his tone a blend of frustration and dismissiveness.

 

“Hey, how old are you? I’m sure you shouldn’t be cursing,” Seamus chided, turning from the window to face Miles.

 

“And I’m sure you shouldn’t be walking out of closets in vacant houses with a kid, but you just seem to be all good with that, huh?” Miles shot back, giving Seamus a pointed look.

 

“Boy, you’re about to—”

 

“BOY?… Woo! Did you just call me 'boy'?” Miles's tone shifted, his expression tightening with offense.

 

“What? No, I called you a boy,' not 'boy.'” Seamus tried to clarify, sensing the misunderstanding escalating.

 

“Naw, you said, 'BOY!' You know what?” Miles pointed a finger accusingly. “I thought I heard you screaming something about Kunta earlier. I gotta watch you.” He wagged his finger, his suspicion apparent.

 

Feeling the conversation veering off into more sensitive territory, Seamus redirected. “Take me to Vicente and 4th,” he demanded, focusing on the more pressing matter of reaching a specific location.

 

“What? No, it doesn’t work like that. It has to be somewhere I’ve been before. I haven’t been anywhere near there,” Miles explained his voice firm, indicating the limits of his mysterious ability.

 

Seamus processed this new piece of information, his mind racing to formulate a plan. They needed a new approach if Miles's ability was confined to places he had previously visited. Seamus's gaze hardened as he considered their options.

 

“Alright, then. Take us to the nearest place you’ve been that's close to there. We need to move fast,” Seamus said, his voice carrying a new edge of urgency.

 

Miles nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Okay, I can do that. Let’s get a bit closer then,” he agreed, stepping towards the closet again, preparing to use his strange and incredible talent to navigate the dangerous, unpredictable streets beyond their temporary haven. 

 

Together, Seamus and Miles prepared to step back into the breach, their uneasy alliance cemented by necessity and a mutual goal to survive the chaos that had overtaken the city.

 

The sudden disappearance of Miles left Seamus grappling with the stark reality of his solitude amid chaos. As he stood there, clutching the empty magician's top, the eeriness of the situation gnawed at him. The clothes lay neatly over the shoes as if Miles had evaporated, leaving only his outfit behind. Seamus shook his head, his mind rejecting the notion of a dream. "Naw, this shit is too vivid. I'm fuckin' woke," he muttered, trying to anchor his thoughts in reality.

 

Calling out for Miles yielded no response, only the hollow echo of his voice in the empty house. With a deep breath, Seamus approached the closet again, his movements tinged with hesitation. He opened and closed the door multiple times, each swing revealing nothing but the barren space behind it. The mystery deepened, and the boundaries of reality seemingly warped at the edges.

 

Compelled by curiosity and concern, Seamus ventured outside, hoping for some clue or direction. The scene that greeted him as he opened the front door was horrifically macabre. Two boys—mere teenagers—were hunched over the body of a pregnant woman, their faces buried in the carnage of her belly. The grotesque sight sent a shiver down Seamus's spine, a visceral reminder of the brutality overtaking the streets.

 

Despite the horror, Seamus's thoughts momentarily drifted to Vince, knowing his friend's morbid fascination with the raw realities of their dire situation. "Vince would've..." he caught himself, the thought trailing off as the absurdity of finding comfort in shared horror struck him.

 

As he surveyed the street, it dawned on him that the scenery had changed. This wasn't the same front they had stepped out to earlier.

 

When they retreated into the house, Seamus realized that Miles must have manipulated their location again. The implications of such an ability were staggering, yet he was unmistakably alone and without guidance.

 

The unsettling quiet of the street was punctuated by distant screams and the occasional gunfire, painting a stark soundscape to the visuals of the apocalypse around him. Seamus knew he needed to move, to find safety, or perhaps even Vince, but the shock of the immediate scene anchored him momentarily in place.

 

With a deep, steadying breath, Seamus steeled himself. He needed to move, survive, find answers—perhaps even find Miles again, whose mysterious abilities seemed both a blessing and a curse in this new, twisted reality. With one last glance at the grim tableau behind him, Seamus stepped into the street, his resolve hardened, his mind alert for any sign of the inexplicable forces at play in the crumbling world around him.