Madness

Molly

The school yard was dotted with threadbare white tents where queues of forlorn-looking men, women, and children snaked in and around. Nobody was dripping wet; they were all perfectly warm and dry.

"Name?" The personnel uttered at the front of the line. "Address?" The voice was almost automated, with a listless pattern about it. "Thank you. Next. Name?"

Immediately, they assessed the people's conditions, gave medical attention to those who direly needed it, and handed food and water and clothing to those who seemed just fine.

It was bustling with activity, rescue men bringing heavily injured citizens in and a few times another rescuer. In a row of closed tents, they attempted to treat them. But most come out in a black body bag, zipped tight. Molly could make out the lines on the black cloth, the protrusions dented by the elbows as they were carried to a hall like a bag of meat.

She watched eagerly, somehow hoping that they'd rush in Connie. He could not walk. He needed rescuing.

At times, unbidden, she would be overwhelmed by guilt. She could not save them after all. After overthinking, she would blame it all upon herself. She made all the decisions. What if they stayed? The storm would stop and they would be fine. They were all fine sitting by the staircase. They should have waited. They should have.

There were many things they should have and not have done. But the first thing she must be now was strong.

She did not see anyone from her orphanage. She feared that none of them made it. If those monsters swarmed them, what could children's tiny arms do? They had so very short legs and only a minute of endurance. Even their prayers could not save them.

She thought about Sean, about Wanda, about Sister Maricelle, about Francine, about Princess, about Connie. But mostly her thoughts revolved around Connie. Because he might still be alive.

Many were talking about the storm and the birds and the giants. They were taking to their phones, posting about their hardships, dramatizing their experiences. The ones who truly lost after it all kept their mouth shut. Just like Molly. No words would be enough to tell their sorrow.

"Did you see the birds?" The man behind her asked someone in curiosity. "They said they were the size of buses?"

"Buses? They were big as planes. God, they were scary," another man replied, animatedly. "My honey and I were in my car when they shot out from the clouds. We thought it was raining rocks."

"Really? Oh, I wish I stayed a second more to see them. Where do you think they came from?"

"Dunno. What if they were aliens?" They talked so loudly.

"Uhm."

"I took a video. Wanna see? It's in here."

Eavesdropping on them, Molly felt a surge of disgust toward them. Her nails dug into her palms, fingers balling into fists. They had no right to find fun in this disaster. They did not know the pain of watching children get snatched by those monsters.

Behind her she heard the video playing. The wind howled but the birds' screeching was discernible amidst it.

"Holy shit!" the first man exclaimed, astounded. "Is-is that?"

"Yeah, too bad for them. Me and my wife, we're warm and safe inside our car."

Molly heard the faint sounds of a sudden commotion and then somebody shrieked in the video. Her ears could not take it anymore.

That was when she swiveled around and without warning, snatched the phone away. Then she flung it to the ground and stomped on it. In front of them.

Crack.

The screen instantly whitened, shattering, the video disappearing in a flash.

"What the fuck!" The owner shouted at her. "What's your problem?"

People turned their heads. The personnel only glanced up from behind her table, shaking her head and going back to her job. If Mother Cecille saw Molly now, she would throw a fit.

A small crowd surrounded them. The long slithering lines of people naturally isolated them. It did not help that the scene became covered, away from the rescuers' eyes and the guards'.

"You don't have the right!" Molly pointed at the owner, not shouting. "You don't know anything."

They were bigger than her, older than her. Barrel chests, puffy arms, six footers. But they were stupid morons who did not have a single drop of compassion in their blood.

"That's my phone, you idiot!" He started to advance on her, fisting his hands. "That's not even fully paid yet. I'm going to need you to pay that."

"I wish those birds took you!" She hissed.

Amid the hustle-and-bustle, the crying children, the moving bodies of people, the two of them looked like a brother and sister quarreling.

"Oh what d'ya say?" The moron glared down at her, stepping nearer. His lips arched dangerously, clearly angered just like Molly wanted him to be.

She wanted to hurt this man. She wanted to kill him. If she had a gun, she was certain she would have clicked the trigger. That was how mad she was.

"I said, I wish you died! I wish they ate you!"

He was merely a foot from her now. If he swung a punch, she knew she could not dodge it. Let him, she thought. She did not give a fucking fuck.

"Hey, hey," a lad butt in, getting in between them. He raised a cautious palm, "She's just a girl. She lost someone, dude."

"You with her?" He asked darkly.

Molly could only see the lad's back. He was taller than her by a foot; and with a more bulky build, he was a match to her sudden adversary. Telling by the timbre of his voice, he did not sound familiar - at least as far as she could remember.

The lad might have shown affirmation - to her surprise - because before anybody could react, the man bludgeoned him squarely on the face, fist meeting flesh and bones in a loud pow. His head looked like it was going to be unscrewed from his neck. The hit, though, was not strong enough to uproot him. He stood firm.

Molly's hero raised his face to the moron. Judging by the fists on his sides, it was about to get ugly even when she could not see the expression on his face. She stepped back a little.

She just now realized her own stupidity.

Molly could not even imagine what that hit could have done to her. Fear was rising in her heart again. That sudden moment of courage felt good but the situation was getting out of hand.

The moron demanded, tone all proud and hostile. "You gonna need to pay."

"Oh this?" The lad said, wiping probably blood off his mouth. He stepped on the crashed phone and further pressed it to the ground with the sole of his shoe. This angered the other, making him start and aim for another strike. That was exactly what the lad was wanting him to do. He blocked the oncoming arm with his own arm and directly kneed his foe on the groin.

Every man in the crowd went in "OOOOOH..," resonating with the pain.

The moron coiled, cupping his balls. "Fuck! Fuck!"

Molly could only guess how much that hurt. But seeing the moron curl and whine like a whipped dog, she wanted to join in on the fight.

Molly's hero was not finished yet. As soon as the moron let down his hand to his groin, he swung a fist from right under the moron's chin, sending him sprawling to the ground.

It looked ruthless, but who was Molly to judge. She was enjoying the show.

A whistle pealed the air. Someone had called the guards at last.

Molly's hero took her hand. "Let's go." Now she had a view of his face - an utter stranger with a square face and neatly trimmed hair that he must have gotten cut just yesterday. He earned a purplish bruise on his left cheek where the punch landed. She thought she must have glimpsed a small bleeding tear on his lip too.

With not a bit of distrust, she let him lead him as they disappeared into the crowd. Nonetheless, she had to ask, "Why are we running away? He punched you first." To her, it sounded enough a reason to defend his actions, including that uppercut that she had to admit was uncalled-for.

He glanced at her. "That's true. But do you have money with you to pay for the phone?"

She looked down in embarassment. "But why help me?"

He brought her behind the rows of tents. "What's your name?" He did have a busted lip. That only made her feel more ashamed.

"Margaret."

"Okay, Margaret-"

"They call me Molly," she added. Margaret just did not sound so right after getting accustomed to another name.

"Uh-huh. Okay, Molly, that was a pretty messed up thing, you know. To break someone's phone."

"He deserved it. They were morons."

"Still, that was not alright."

"Why are you talking to me like I'm a child? I'm thirteen."

"And I'm seventeen. And you acted like a child there."

"They were laughing. They were... they were amazed by it. In the phone. I just can't stand it. The sounds." She balled her fists.

"Who did you lose?" He asked, suddenly solemn.

"My brothers and sisters. And my mothers. I don't know where they are or whether they're safe at all."

"Oh you lost a lot. More than me. Where you from?"

"The orphanage. How about you? Who did you..?"

"Oh, just...my mom. And my brother probably."

They were silent for a moment, both of them understanding that they needed the comfort of the quiet.

He sighed after a while. "A bird just grabbed her and phew she was gone."

Molly found it hard to talk about her own loss. She just listened.

"The only way I survived was hiding in a house when it apeared so impossible to go on. I said to myself I'll try my luck with the giants. Maybe they would not make it this far. Then the storm just went poof," he ended, looking up at the sky, clearly reminiscing the way it looked before. Gray and dark. And full of soaring man-eaters.

"I'm Bill by the way," he said, smiling warmly.