1931: Survivors

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They stood in silence.

My ears still rang from the thundering roar of my Colts, my fingers singed from swapping out hot brass for fresh rounds.

The room in front of me was small, controlled by a handful of staff. My heart sank, and my anger surged as I saw a trio of young girls, two on the right and one in a bed on the left.

From the looks on their faces, I could see they knew what fate awaited them.

The women in the beds gazed at me; all hope lost.

Genevieve was not among them.

“Where is Genevieve?” I asked.

The doctor stepped forward, his voice high and tight as he lifted his chin imperiously. “We don’t bother with names in the impregnation chamber.”

I shot him in the head, and blood splattered over the white linens and clean walls. While the nurses cried out and shrank back, neither the girls nor the patients abed did so.

I nodded to the closest nurse. “Same question.”

The woman straightened up, her entire body trembling. “I won’t – ”

I shot her before she could finish speaking, the heavy slug ripping through her chest and dropping her to the floor.

The nurse to the far right cringed as I looked at her, and before I could ask my question, she exclaimed, “Genevieve died this morning by her own hand after we impregnated her.”

I tightened my grip on the Colts and asked, “Which of you did it?”

Before either of the nurses could answer, one of the girls – whose right eye was bandaged, whispered, “They all did.”

As the nurses looked at the child in horror, I gunned them down.

None of the shots were clean, and they were squealing in pain as I walked to the nearest adult patient.

I opened my mouth to speak, and the woman shook her head.

“There is no hope for any of us,” she explained. “We are all of us doomed. Even should the beasts within bloom, we will be sacrificed to their foul gods. We can only ask for mercy.”

“That,” I whispered. “Is something I can do.”

The young girls gathered on the far side of the room, and I walked among the impregnated women. Some prayed. Others remained silent. All looked at me with fierce, determined eyes.

I wept with each pull of the trigger.

#paranormal #mystery

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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