• The end of the world had been coming for thousands of years. When the Earth was finally choking out its final, labored breaths, the world had ceased to care. Birds had long ago stopped singing; fish and other marine life lay quiet under the sea, watching the lights play on the surface; and monkeys stopped their chatter and thoughtfully nibbled a leaf or simply looked at one another. Only humans, at least a human had refused to let the end of the world simply happen. Max was the Earth’s final primal struggle and now he lay dying.

    Simple-minded as he was, he thought in memory without any real aims except for a way to satisfy his own searing-hot anger. The ambush had been perfect. He had been lying in wait all day, repeating the information to himself so that every muscle in his body knew independently what they each had to do. When the time had come…

    “Max, do you hear me? What happened?” A static-heavy voice zipped into his ear to his annoyance.

    Melee.

    Max discovered a new reservoir of strength and savagely tore the earpiece from the left side of his face. The hologram screen no longer worked, but he could still picture her face: scruffy, with wild black hair and a pair of hungry cat eyes that might as well have been a brand bearing the word, “b***h”. Of course she wouldn’t hesitate to interrupt his personal dying thoughts. Melee obsessed about the target. To Max, her actions felt as though Hell itself were nipping at her heels, demanding that the target die. All of her mistakes stemmed from a more than eager attempt at overkill. She had a personal vendetta against the target and the idea had irritated Max.

    The target had been sitting on a swing. Bony little white, hands clung onto the whimpering chains, shaking with frailty. Long starkly black hair swept the ground to the rhythm of the swing. He had only a millisecond to assess the situation, but for somebody gifted by the Order with astonishing instinct, that was all he needed. What he found, he realized astonished him.

    No wonder Tristan had trouble killing her. Although she was a much paler, deathly version, her features were unmistakably identical to that of her mother. That moment marked a realization for Max. In an instant, the target became a child—Isabel’s child. No trace of Tristan in her looks, but her breath was enough proof of her lineage.

    Isabel had been beautiful. One wouldn’t have thought it, though, had they seen her as Max had seen her last. She was howling in pain, stained with blood from having borne the child. Virelle was it? Her last words were curses, though nobody could make out their recipient. The consensus brought them down on the child and she was hunted.

    Everything had happened according to the Order’s prediction. The four strangers were brought together by the cult and had been told that they were to be given a mission. In his mind, he still saw the glowing blue room, still smelled the lulling incense, still heard the low chanting. He didn’t stop to think about why he had agreed. All he knew was that it was the end of the world—he knew as though it were tattooed into the marrow of his bones—and if they had a chance to fight, so be it.

    Assuredly, he felt the initial horror of discovering who the target was. He was even glad when Tristan had hidden Isabel away so that the child would be born. He wasn’t sure he could have killed Isabel. That simply would not have been right. Isabel had been the most gentle of them. What a relief the child had done it for them and in doing so brought Tristan against her, albeit in need of a little patching.

    Before the child was born, there had been a world hopeful that their bodies were only reading an oncoming cold instead of the frozen fingers of death. A touch of the flu, maybe? Nobody had dared speak of this sickness to others, afraid of the affirmation that comes from agreement. But her birth brought them face to face with what they already knew. Suckled on her mother’s blood, the child would not stop and began to hunt, growing rapidly with each new victim.

    The Order had said that she would be here in the playground. Confident that he could redirect the Earth’s destructive path, Max had eagerly waited in ambush. He saw her. His muscles flexed… Then there was that split second where the world paused as though waiting to see if Max would understand. He had understood. The world resumed slowly at first but sped up as his mind caught up with what was physically happening.

    There was no battle. That fraction of a second was all the child had needed. A wave of shockingly fast wind had arisen instantaneously. Under the wind’s guidance, the mulch under the child’s feet sliced through the air like razors. Her eyes were entirely bathed in a cool bright blue glow that leaped onto her nearly translucent skin. This was all he saw.

    Max wrinkled his forehead at the memory. Bodies, hundreds of the remaining humans in the planet lay peacefully sleeping where the child had found them. He hadn’t noticed it before, but in these last moments, wondering what he would soon look like, he remembered suddenly that none of the dead had appeared to suffer.

    Such a recollection brought a strange smile to his face. He saw her. Deep, large, round and black eyes stared at him curiously. Looking into them reminded Max of volcanic lava that had just begun to cool. Underneath, a spark waited; but for now, he was still smiling because she had come back to make sure that he wouldn’t be left behind. He wanted to apologize, but he knew it was unnecessary. She had needed him just as much as all the world needed her now.