Private Jordan Strong Reporting.
We combed the entire city. Not a soul; not a sound. No signs of struggle or violence. It was as though everyone had simply abandoned their existence and fled on foot. Cars sat still running- those that hadn't run out of gas anyway- and the billboards still glowed with silent advertisements.
Things took a turn when we moved to 5th and Vernon. It started as a low groan. Our seargent said that the buildings are designed to sway in the wind. That keeps them from falling down. But there was no wind. Smeared across one of the buildings was a streak of red. Blood? But there was so much and it had to be at least 15 stories in the air. Still, something about it chilled my bones. I swear the streak was in the shape of a grin.
The groaning became gradually louder and was joined by the shriek of twisting metal. One of our men screamed. I turned just in time to see his face pincoushioned with rebars before he was yanked into the air. Another man screamed. This one was split in two by an I-beam.
As our entire squad descended into bloody chaos, our seargent gave the order to run. I didn't look back. But the screams followed me for miles and miles and miles. Even when I was clear of the city I heard them ringing in my head over the din of twisting metal. A din that I swear to on my life had morphed into a horrific cacophony of thunderous laughter.
Hungry for more horror? Check out our other stories here!
Σχόλια