Blood Ever After

3

Grifton Army Barracks, Grifton. 11.21 a.m. October 4TH

Colonel Cooper stepped into Major Holt's office.

Holt sat at his desk reading a report, cell phone sitting beside him. On beige walls hung photos of past major generals, accolades inscribed beneath. An open Coke sat on a great mahogany desk. An empty bin sat on a spotless floor, the stench inside the room sterile, like cheap industrial chemicals. Just how Holt liked it.

"So, what d'ya think?" Cooper said. He had an itch on his neck, but was reluctant to scratch it in front of Holt. He knew Major despised weakness in others, and Cooper didn't want to be called out for his.

Not that he believed Major was some macho gung-ho type himself. He knew it was just part of the image all majors–male or female–had to produce in the military. Everyone was called to be all big-headed and boisterous, all vying against one another for that top position.

That itch, however, was really starting to irritate.

Major sifted through the documents. "You're telling me that across six states nationwide, on average ... 1.9% of people either disappeared ... or were found loitering nearby in some compound or damned ... hideaway, the next day?" Major dropped the papers. "What the heck do you take me for, Cooper?"

Except Major wasn't very surprised, tell you the truth. For at exactly 3:44 a.m. the previous night he had watched his own wife stand and leave the room as though in a dream.

Which of course had never ever happened before.

And before he decided to start an argument that would result in either his wife or him leaving the apartment, maybe even the marriage, he had decided to give her some time to come back and explain herself. But to his shock, she'd never returned.

Now he was certain as to why she'd left.

She wasn't cheating on him as he'd feared—and as she would have feared once he dumped her lying ass of the closest bridge, tied in a body bag. No, what happened to his dear wife was that she was damn well ... called, like these other fools, and she'd find her way home sooner or later.

2.4% of Grifton citizens didn't go missing overnight.

Not for a very good reason anyway.

He shuffled the papers back together, staring once more at Cooper. "Get on the phone to the president's office. We're deploying soldiers nationwide; one battalion per forty thousand residents–That's one soldier for every two hundred civilians, if you can't figure it out."

Cooper could only stare at Major, so Major yelled, "I mean now, ass-wipe."

He threw the papers toward the door before him, but that fan blew them all back into his face, and before he knew it he was chowing down on wads of missing-people-reports more than any actual food he'd had that day.

"Piss off. Piss the lot of you," he screamed, slapping papers away.

***

Tyler sat at the picnic table. Over by the barbecue his dad turned the sausages. Smoke drifted up. There was a noticeable lack of people throughout the park today. Tyler knew it was to do with the event....

He stared at his phone. Still no response from Anderson. Where the heck was the idiot? Surely he hadn't got himself caught up in this thing too?

Tyler looked up at his mother placing down plastic knives and forks.

"Wanna give us a hand, honey?"

"Sure, Mom."

He stood.