The adrenaline began to kick through Dawson's veins. He felt his pulse intensify with each stride as he bolted across the asphalt. Sweat sufficed beneath the inside of his grey, tattered t-shit as he dashed through the crowded streets. His eyes darted from one corner to the next as he searched for his source of refuge. His heart raced rapidly as he advanced forward.
"Cole!" shouted the gruff man chasing after him. His eyes were locked on Dawson's trail as he zoomed through the clots of people hovering along the polluted street. He towered over his two colleagues following close behind, both dressed in military gear. The man possessed a scar that drew over his right eye, and he frightened those who glanced upon him because of his boisterous looks.
Dawson aggressively pushed through survivors and sharply turned the corner in hopes of losing his perpetrators. The streets were crowded today; FEDRA had announced that food rations would be cut short the day before, resulting in swarms of people scrambling for food distributions in the market. Or, rather, what was left of it. Shouts of accusations rang out again as Dawson bolted.
"Get back here, Cole!" exclaimed Dawson's enemy.
Thick pellets of rain began to seep their way onto the streets. Thunder broke out as Dawson's feet shuffled through wet puddles. Quickly, Dawson's sight recognized his surroundings; he was close to Eileen. The starving people began to retreat inside to avoid the rain, allowing Dawson to blend in with them. He looked behind his shoulder to check and see if his followers were close. Doing so, he slowed down and was forcefully shoved into a familiar brick building. It was headquarters. The soaking citizens scrambled into their shelters on the first floor of the old building. Dawson crouched down next to a broken window as he watched his followers run past the building, desperately searching for him. He smirked in success of losing them.
The noise of shouting and scrambling had now evaporated. The survivors scurried away, leaving Dawson alone and unattended. After checking his surroundings, he quickly made his way upstairs to the second level of the building past crumbling walls and broken furniture. He ambled to the first door on the left. Before entering, he collected himself and his thoughts and tried to look presentable. Dawson was already late; he didn't want to be pestered for anything else. Opening the door, he eyed Eileen, a stern look on her face, sitting at the head of a table. Next to her sat numerous officials who stared Dawson down, all possessing the same expression as Eileen. Dawson looked away in discomfort.
"Cole," stated Eileen firmly, staring Dawson down, "Sit down." Eileen's red hair matched the fire in her tone. She was a middle-aged woman, probably in her forties, with strict eyes and an alarming demeanor. Dawson had met her a year after entering the quarantine zone. She was draconian when it came to affairs and didn't put up with any form of shit. She believed in the cause so much that it consumed her. Dawson never sensed any signs of weakness from Eileen, and intended he never would.
Dawson pulled out a chair at the end of the table and hastily sat down. The room was darkly lit, and light was shed only above the table so everyone's faces could be seen, although it was still a challenge.
"What is it this time, Dawson?" asked Eileen, "Military trouble?" Her colleagues chuckled.
"No," Dawson stared at Eileen, "Drug transfer went haywire," he responded with haste. Eileen smirked. This was not the first time Dawson had catapulted himself into trouble before meetings.
"Well, I'm glad to see our Fireflies are such role models," she said with sarcasm. Eileen's eyes met Dawson's with disapproval.
"I wouldn't call myself one," Dawson replied, "Honestly I just do all of your dirty work."
The room went silent. Eileen shook her head. Dawson was frozen. He knew Eileen was capable of harming him, yet still, he continued to defy her. Yes, he was involved with the Fireflies, but he wouldn't count himself as one. Dawson provided strategies against the military/FEDRA, but was never convoluted in the benefit of survivors. He didn't believe in "a better society," or "peace in the future." To Dawson, it was simply bullshit propaganda.
"Let's get down to what really matters right now," announced Eileen. She slammed a yellow folder down onto the table from underneath her seat. Out spilled varying papers; some contained records while others contained pictures. Dawson eyed them with intrigue. The images consisted of varying survivors, all caught on security footage. Some young, some older, all different. Dawson contemplated if a Firefly hit list was forming, but the images captured innocent faces— faces very different to those who were chasing him earlier.
"What's all this?" asked a Firefly to the right of Eileen. He held one of the images up to his broken glasses. The picture depicted a young girl entering a building, most likely in her twenties, with long, dirty-blonde hair. Below the image was the name: Hunter. Dawson held a confused expression on his face as he flipped through the images. There were about six or seven different faces.
"This here," said Eileen with pride, "are our protectors." The Fireflies, along with Dawson, looked up from the images, dazed by what she meant.
"Protectors of what?" Dawson asked, his eyes now locked on Eileen. He was already wary of the situation at hand.
"Her," Eileen responded, sliding an image across the table of another girl. She possessed blonde hair, which was very short, and looked in her twenties. She was petite and looked extremely virtuous. The name: Esme was inscribed beneath her picture. In an odd way, she captivated Dawson. He felt completely blindsided. "She was bitten about two weeks ago and came to us about it. She's shown no signs of infection and is completely healthy. She's a wonder to us all," Eileen chuckled as she held up an image of her bite mark, now looking a bit healed.
Everyone sat up in shock, except for Dawson. Usually a survivor had a chance of living at least two days after the infection struck. Esme's case was unheard of since the outbreak. Dawson was on the verge of cracking a smile, but he suppressed it.
"What does this mean?" asked another Firefly with a puzzling look across her face.
"It means we may have found a cure," Eileen said with a smile, resulting in gasps from a few of the fireflies. Dawson leaned towards the table a bit more as she continued. "By using her, we could easily develop a vaccine with a blood transfusion. All we have to do is deliver her to Atlanta, where the correct medical equipment is located. The others you have just seen in the images will help Dawson get her there—"
"Wait—" Dawson interrupted.
"We've been spying on them for over a week now, Dawson. They're the perfect fit for this mission. And so are you, since you know the land so well—"
"You never gave me a choice, Eileen—"
"You have no other choice, Dawson!" she exclaimed, standing up out of her chair, "You've gotten in enough trouble to be handed over to the authorities. I've gotten you out of enough shit. This is how you'll repay me, and this is what you'll do unless you're ready to be executed by FEDRA," She sat back down, brushing her hands through her hair. "By all means, I'm more than ready to hand you over. Your choice, Cole."
"Eileen—" he continued.
"Dawson, this isn't about you, or me, or even Esme," she cleared her throat, "It's about humanity. If I were able to transport Esme, I would. But we're all too recognized by the military across all borders. You are not, Dawson,"
Dawson looked away from her, a grimace forming across his face. His hands gripped the arm rests of the chair forcefully.
"I've already sent the others a letter. It orders them to meet here tonight. Esme will be present with them. I expect you to be here as well, Dawson. We'll deliver a brief meeting and send you off," Eileen continued as she put a copy of the letter on the table:
Dear _________,
We've been watching over you the past week. Your skills have attracted us to use you, along with selected others, for a mission that could change the outcome of your future. Meet at the brick building on Main Street, second floor, 10:00 PM tonight, and we will be waiting for you. We're counting on you, survivor. Don't let us down, or there may be dire consequences.
Continue to Look for the Light
- The Fireflies
Dawson read over the letter, stood up abruptly, and left.