[short story] The light
The grayish green fog is slowly wafting through the deserted streets. The bitter stench of death and decay makes it unbearable to stay, forcing you to continue your way through the devilish half-light of the desolate city.
An eerie quiet lulls you in, rendering your head heavy and your limbs like dough. Hear! What was that? Wings flapping, a swish and a rustle, then from afar the deep rumble of a flamethrower, laying waste to everything in its path. A scream, torn up voices, then silence again. You know they are here, searching, stalking, in the dark. Waiting for you.
You rub your eyes with your dirty hands. You must not fall asleep! You continue, making your way towards the light. It shines so bright, there, just above the city hall. Move! You throw your hook, grappling the edge of a fire ladder, then zooming over to the other side of the street. You climb through broken windows and march through devastated rooms, then pull yourself up on the roof.
Out there, you see it again. The light draws you closer like a moth towards the flame. You follow the call. Crash! The tiles break under your step, you plow through debris but you manage to catch a protruding rafter, saving yourself from the fall.
“Shak tal!” bellows the commander below you, wildly giving signs to his squad, “shak tal!”. “Shak tal”, you remember, is certain death, but that is irrelevant now, important is only the light. The squad is readying their flamers. With the last of your strength, you pull yourself onto to the roof, jumping, lunging forward. You reach out with your hand, you feel its presence, just as the fire explodes.