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Chapter 29 - Six Feet Under

March 5th, 1999

Evelyn found God carved in the wood; the dove and the son, at the very least. They were looking at her, prestigious and privileged from where they were engraved into the oak walls, their eyes penetrating through hers as though with the intent to kill. This was not the first time she had seen such eyes staring disparagingly down at her, like a child being scolded for doing something unreasonable.

In this case, it was the divine that was her executor – her punisher. This was her wrongdoing, and she knew it as well. God had never had a prominent role in her life, as much as her grandmother tried to force it upon her, but there was no mistake of the fact that it had left a lingering sense of shame upon her being. Even without being reminded of it, she knew that it was wrong. So, so wrong.

But she didn't care. Even though every fiber in her biological being went against, her mind was set in stone.

With whatever strength her thin arms possessed, she pushed through the door and into the smoke-filled building, her lungs basking in what little remained of fresh oxygen in them before the pollutant of smoke swiftly usurped what had previously been stored in them. She had read someplace that inhaling smoke for long periods of time could have serious consequences on the body's respiratory system, and if there was one thing she was not intent on doing, it was to trigger another asthma attack. She neither had her inhaler with her nor the time to dwell on that kind of nonsense given the circumstances.

"[XXXXXX]!" she called into the smoke-filled abyss which was the orphanage, her eyes scanning across the corridors as she searched for some sign of life amidst the chaos. Perhaps he was on the second floor, trapped beneath a bookshelf that had fallen on top of him. The whole place was going down in flames, hard, making every step she took a risky one. Still, she would have to be swift if she wanted to get out of there alive, and preferably not alone.

Evelyn covered her mouth with the sleeve of her elbow and slowly stepped inside, weighing each step carefully before proceeding further inside. She could vaguely hear the sirens calling from outside out to whoever remained inside to come out, only to be met with silence. Impending, horrendous, excruciating silence.

If she got out of there alive, her mother would kill her. Evelyn couldn't tell which was worse; being crushed to death by a collapsing building, or facing her mother's wrath.

She'd cross that bridge when she got there.

A loud bang suddenly rang through the empty space, and vibrations resonated through the floor to such an extent that her knees buckled beneath her weight. Everything around her shook as though an earthquake was to blame, but this was not the cause of seismic disruptions.

With barely any usable air left to fuel her lungs, Evelyn crawled back up to her feet and resumed with her search. The air was scarcely penetrable, but she was adamant in her attempt to make it through. Forcing her lungs to expand large enough to take a deep breath, she called out again, hoarsely, "[XXXXXX]!". There was no response.

She pushed through the corridor, quick and partially lucky enough to avoid running into any collateral damage. It could have been credited to her small size and light weight, but she wasn't ready to conclude that for certain until she was out of there. She could feel the heat of the nearby flames graze and moderately burn her, but not enough to leave any physical damage.

When she turned the corner, she could vaguely spot someone walking away in the hallway, their back to her. The smoke fogged her vision and produced an intolerable headache for her to endure, but upon seeing someone there, alive, her mind instantly numbed the pain and she was able to concentrate again.

"Hello!" she shouted out, coughing as the smoke invaded her lungs again. Tears filled the edges of her eyes. "Is anyone there?" She believed that she had called out loudly enough for the person to hear her and turn around, but she was surprised to see them still walking as if they didn't have a care in the world; the flames and the danger was a non-existent threat to them.

Did she dare sprint after them, past all the danger in order to reach for someone who didn't seem like they had the mentality of a survivalist? If would be foolishness; total stupidity. It was a marvel that darwinism had not come for her.

"Hello!" she cried again, making her way forward with as few steps as she could manage. The debris descending from the ceiling above her fell upon her shoulders and on her head in small pieces. The dust that hung in the air was restricting her breathing, and she could already feel her throat tighten. She felt tempted to say a no-no word only her father was allowed to say, and saying it aloud could have consequences. Not physically; her mother wasn't present to reprimand her for vocalizing a foul word. But given the circumstances, she felt that it was justified.

"Damn it,"

The fire continued to spread. Her time there was limited, and she was stuck at a crossroad she knew would end up with either her leaving while she had the chance, or risk her well-being for the sake of someone else. Had she been her brother, she wouldn't have hesitated to act on the latter option; his urge to be a hero was something she both admired and pitied.

She wasn't her brother, but she was his sister.

Sipping one last breath, Evelyn threw her arms forward and began to sprint through the smoke-filled hallway; consequences be damned. Her only regrets were not trying to find a third option, but it was too late to turn back. The distance between here and the obscured individual in front of her shortened, past every fallen bookshelf and fire-consumed object in sight. The heat was practically boiling the external layer of her skin, but she knew that she had to go on. If she turned back now, her chances of surviving would reach the minimal part of the scale which was her life.

She got closer, and closer, and closer, until…

Standing no less than five feet away from Evelyn with his back turned stood [XXXXX], but he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him, at such proximity that one might have mistaken her for his mother. The woman stood in front of him, hunched over his considerably smaller figure like a rotten piece of flesh about to be thrown into the garbage disposal post the slaughter-process. The woman was unmoving, but still standing. The closer Evelyn got to them, her heart almost pounding out of her chest, the more she realized that the woman's eyes – albeit open – were utterly lifeless. The woman's pupils were enlarged, taking up almost as much space as the alabaster-colored sclera did. Perhaps the smoke had done something to her sight, but how would that explain her inert stance? Had she passed out from the smoke?

Evelyn recognized the woman – she had seen her before. Mrs. Calderon, a live-in helper Evelyn had on countless occasions seen cleaning the floors of the very same hallway in which they were standing.

The woman's body suddenly slid onto the floor with a thud, blood seeping out of an open gash in her chest.

"You should have seen her face," There was a childish giggle to be heard coming from him. "She was all like 'What have you done?!', but then she just shut up as soon as I poked her with this,"

[XXXXXX] turned to her, his lips slightly parted and spread into a Glasgow-like smile, his left hand clutched around a small but effective kitchen knife that was barely the size of a pen; dripping with blood. His teeth shone perfectly, but there was nothing perfect about him at all. His green eyes were aimed at her – wide and deranged, but perfectly sane nonetheless. His hair was covered in dust and spready over his eyes, but it did not seem to bother him at all. Had there been no context to the circumstances, one might have imagined that he was naught but a mischevious child who had just been able to get away with switching labels on the salt and sugar containers in time to watch some unfortunately oblivious fool drizzle the wrong kind over his cereal. There was no sense of severity to see on him; no sense of horror or guilt. The body next to him almost went unnoticed by him, as if there was nothing there at all.

Evelyn was silent for what felt like hours, which in reality was but a couple of seconds. She wanted to scream each time her eyes flashed over the woman's body as blood gradually poured out of her wound, with those same lifeless eyes aimed at absolutely nothing. She couldn't move; could barely breathe. She stood there, frozen, not knowing what to comprehend of the situation.

Instead, there came nothing but a meek ghost of a whisper. "What did you do?"

Despite the low volume that came from her voice, he had heard her perfectly well.

"I gave them a God to believe in," he said with a simple shrug, sounding as though he was being nagged for doing something that was perfectly sensible. "They were always talking about this big guy in the skies. It was so boring that I thought about bringing the skies down on them,"

He sounded so casual; so innocent; so careless, like none of the burning damage around them was bothering him in the slightest. The air grew thicker and thicker from all the smoke, but in a matter of moments, that problem seemed to vanish amidst itself. She could barely see him where he stood despite the short distance between them, but she knew he was there. She was perfectly able to tell what it was he was doing. He was still smiling; still eyeing her the same way he had done ever since they first met that day on the concrete after her brother was rushed to the hospital from falling down the tree. He had not changed a bit, and she knew that she had been unbearably stupid for thinking so.

She had been so, so, so stupid.

Anger flooded through her veins and she lurched towards him, grabbed him by the shoulders and clutched as hard as she could. Her nails felt like they were about to pierce through his shirt, and his skin felt like soft paper tissue beneath it. She never had a habit of biting her nails, so it would be fairly easy to graze his skin had she wanted to. She wanted to. She desperately wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like he had heart Mrs. Calderon, whose blood was not soaking the outsoles of her shoes. The liquid was still warm, but not as heated as her immeasurable resentment towards him.

But, if she hated him so much, why were tears streaking her cheeks? Why was she crying like a little kid as she held him there, unwilling to let go; unwilling to leave? Why was she acting so stupid?

"Why?" she asked, not knowing whether she was asking him or herself. Her eyes failed to meet his, in spite of the close proximity she shared with him. He was warm, warmer than the flames that burned around them in that decomposing building, but that didn't soothe her fear. If anything, it further ignited it, causing it to spread through her core like a rapid wildfire. He was warm, but he was just as cold. His soul, if there truly existed such a concept, was the opposite of everything she assumed it to be.

His 'soul' was non-existent. As void as a hole in the ground, but ten times as dark.

Evelyn did not find God within these walls; she never had.

She found the Devil, and she had accommodated him for so long.

The walls were falling down. Her walls were descending from the height she had once put them up to. She was waking up to the reality she had denied herself.

But as she did that, something sharp and cold plunged into her lower abdomen.

"WHy?" He asked as the ashes descended upon them. A soft yet hoarse chuckle resonated through the smoke-filled air, albeit it was accompanied by a burst of underlying laughter that was scarcely audible past its morbid counterpart. "BeCAUse I cAN."

God was dead. If He had allowed the Devil to roam the world on his own accord, then there was truly nothing left of the world to be protected.

She couldn't breathe in a world like that. It suffocated her. It was unbearable.

November 18th, 2011

"Quite a lovely home, wouldn't you say, March?" Jonathan Davis, a fellow resident, had a habit of speaking when it suited him, even at the inconvenience of others. While his remarks didn't earn him any favoritism from their supervisors, it nonetheless proved to be entertaining on the few occasions he actually had anything creative to say. The only reason why she had brought him along to that godforsaken site was that she imagined that his sardonic demeanor would serve as comedic relief in such dreary circumstances, which it surprisingly succeeded at.

But as amusing as his remarks were, especially considering where they were standing, Evelyn did little to satiate his need for approval. Instead, her eyes were glued to the scenery in front of them with a mixture of aversion and subtle astonishment. The buildings were largely demolished and in ruins, but parts of the orphanage had managed quite well over the years despite the lack of proper maintenance. Ever since it burned down, it was rumored to be haunted; a place where children could dwell on the unimaginable horrors that took place within those walls.

Some said that occultists would use the place as a gate to the other dimensions they were trying to summon, while others stated that it was just someplace where the homeless would live as a means to get by in an unbearably cold and unforgiving world.

In reality, she knew that it was nothing more than an abandoned place where a freak accident occurred, killing those unfortunate enough to have been inside it at the time the misfortune took place. There were no ghosts, nor were there any hauntings. If there were any occult rituals taking place in there, they were wasting their time considerably, for there was nothing even remotely paranormal to find there.

After a few minutes of deliberate silence, she decided to appeal to Davis' comment regarding the place. "I wouldn't call it home, per se,"

He rolled his eyes. "I was being sarcastic, March,"

"I wouldn't notice," she said. "You sound the same regardless,"

"Or maybe you just suck at telling the difference between sincerity and deception?" he suggested with a playful smirk tugging on his lips.

She paid him no mind, but couldn't help but agree with his comment to an extent. "Perhaps,"

Davis let it slide and resumed with sharing the same scenery, though with less interest. "The fire shut it all down, right?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "There was an error with the heating pipes around the place, resulting in an explosion that subsequently set it all on flames," It was deemed so after experts had evaluated the plausible reasons behind the orphanage's demise. While there were countless other possible explanations behind it, there were few that were just as likely as the one she just mentioned.

Davis whistled. "Somebody sure did their research. I remembered that it was a huge deal back in the days. A lot of people died. Only a girl survived, they said. Manuela Calderon, I think her name was. Poor girl lost her mother in all that hell, literally,"

"Someone sure did their research," she mimicked him.

"Still, I think it's all bullshit,"

His sudden response caught her off-guard, mainly because it sounded so un-Davis-like. "What is bullshit?"

He gestured towards the building like a tour-guide. "Here you see a site where every single kid and staff member except one died. Not a single survivor otherwise, even though there were emergency exits located throughout the entire building. The firemen even said that the doors were locked,"

She narrowed her eyes. "Your point?"

"It's like someone planned this. They say that the fire started in the cafeteria, where almost everyone was. Sure sounds convenient that it was then that the fire began,"

"Could be something produced from the kitchens," she suggested, trying to find reasonable contradictions to match his hypothesizes. "Maybe an oven or something went haywire?"

"Still don't buy it," Davis firmly stated. "They also say that they found that Calderon woman and some other woman from the disciplinary administration with strange wounds that were visible even past all those charred parts of their bodies,"

Evelyn didn't like how inquisitive he was starting to become; it was like he was speaking from experience, and as far as she knew, Davis was from North Carolina. An immense feeling of disdain began to manifest in her chest as she continued to hear of his supposed claims and theories. Sherlock Holmes would have shaken his head in shame, but mutually with appreciation and admiration as well. As did she.

"What happened was but an accident," she cut him in the middle of his next rant, shutting him successfully before she glanced back at the ruins one last time before making her way to the gate. "What is buried is supposed to remain there,"

"The past is dead and buried, but buried things have a way of making it back to the surface when you least expect them to," Davis said, making her scoff as she recalled those exact same words from someplace else.

"Quoting Dan Simmons, are we?" she asked and paused briefly in her tracks, finding the circumstances as amusing as they were unwanted. "What is buried is going to remain underground,"

"And if it doesn't?" he asked, walking up to her side with a particularly interesting smirk on his lips. "What if what is buried doesn't want to stay there?"

"You get a bigger shovel,"

"Is that so?"

"It is,"

"But what if it keeps coming back?"

At that point, she was glaring bitterly at him. "Then you leave, and make sure that it doesn't find you,"

"So that's your solution to things, March," It wasn't a question. "You run from them? Escape?"

Cowardice? Her father would have called it exactly that. "I have no interest in chasing after ghosts, nor do I intend on having them run after me,"

"You can't control things as much as you would want them to," Davis said solemnly. "If they do come, and they don't stop, then there is little you can do to shake them off."

She finally met his gaze and a mutual sense of both aversion and interest was shared between them. Two residents on the opposite side of the scales, but at the same time equals. "Then what do you suggest there is to be done?"

At the sound of this, Davis released an all-too-familiar chuckle. "What to do, what to do, that's easy. You face it,"

His answer disappointed her. "That's your solution? Be a hero and go against the current?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Isn't that the only thing you can do?" he inquired, sounding genuinely surprised by her lack of satisfaction. "Face it and get on with your life?"

Her face twisted into a snarl that had even him backing off a few steps. "I have no intention to face what I left behind," she said and started walking back to the gate. "I want it to stay beneath the surface, held down, suffocated, and forever incapacitated and contained." She unconsciously placed a hand on the side of her abdomen, a sharp sting echoing through her skin and producing chills that had nothing to do with the decreasing temperature around her. "I want it dead and gone, no matter the cost. The past is dead and buried, and that's how I intend on keeping it."

Like a Devil in the dark abyss which was Hell, she wanted it to stay there.

As she passed through the open gate, the name of the abandoned place came into view, and it was the last time she read it.

"SAINT ESTES HOME FOR BOYS"

The force of the explosion sent her plunging to the floor with dissembling debris, thousands of pieces of glass shards, and furniture raining down upon her like meteors from the skies to the extent that even the dinosaurs would have been envious. She kept her head low and shielded it with her arms, keeping her breath contained within her lungs as she internally hoped that nothing would strike her and send her halfway across the room.

Around her, there was chaos. Everything was destroyed; in pieces; dust. A fire had erupted as a subsequent consequence of the explosion that had taken place so close to the shop outside, and there was screaming and shouting heard from the outside. Not commanding ones; uninvolved witnesses who were attempting their best to contribute to the decline of the 'accident'. Their words were incoherent and blurry, as a ringing started to resonate through her eardrums.

Her heart felt unbearably tight within that cage which was her chest; threatening to burst through her bones and make a brutal exit in a vast attempt to be freed of its turmoil. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe at all. The dust in the air, the chaos around her, the destruction, the death. It was like a plague that had come to deprive her of what little remained of her self-restraint and composure, starting with her oxygen levels. Her heart pace began to quicken, and her sense of rationality was starting to crumble beneath the weight of absolutely everything.

Dark spots began to appear in her vision, and she began to hyperventilate, but each breath was brief and barely provided her lungs with enough air to function properly. No, damnit! Not now! There wasn't any time!

As she tried to compose herself, Evelyn glanced around in what was once a small albeit comfortable little ship in which she and Mr. Brock had found their temporary haven. There was almost nothing left to identify it; there was just dust and broken pieces of furniture spewed around, as though a monster had wreaked havoc in an attempt to satiate its need for obliteration. The fire that had begun to spread was slowly claiming what little of inflammable material there was in the shop, including the wooden material in the kitchen. Though it was graduate, there was no doubt that it could escalate to something far more dangerous given enough time.

Treece had found them, and he would continue to do it until there was no place left to hide. The Life Foundation had eyes and ears everywhere in the city and, hell, the entire planet as well. The world was their body, and Evelyn was just a virus that was in need of being exterminated; a parasite. They wouldn't stop looking for them, until they had what they were looking for. Then, they would continue killing people, just like they had before. They would kill innocent people, torture them, experiment on them like guinea pigs in cages for the sake of progress. Humanity was a means to an end, and she had contributed to this.

This was her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. IT WAS HER FUCKING FAULT!

She had let them die without moving a muscle to help.

Beads of sweat were dripping from her forehead and all sounds in the background faded into distant ringing. She desperately clutched her hands around her neck, not knowing whether to further suffocate herself or to try and stabilize her condition.

'Are you having another asthma attack?"'

"I don't – I don't know," she breathed out, her voice hoarse and incoherent as if she had spent a large portion of her life screaming. Wheezing began to protrude from her throat as she heaved her chest, causing it to ache painfully for each of the inhales. Was this was dying truly felt like? In that case, she would have rather endured another bullet to the abdomen.

'It's alright, just try to relax, alright,'

"It's my fault,"

'Not all of it. You wanted to help people, right?'

Help them? Was that what she ended up doing? She had deliberately participated in the experiments, and even when a gun was aimed at her head, she continued to serve. Like an obedient dog.

"I couldn't – I couldn't save them," She gnashed her teeth together, her hands dropping from her neck and down to her arms, hugging her self tightly as if her life depended on it. The corners of her eyes began to sting. "I let them die,"

'If you don't get up, you will join them too. Is that what you want? To die? To be buried? Forgotten? Will you give that a go again? Let them die in vain?'

Dying. It was an unbearably easy thing to commit oneself to. All it took was a couple of pills; a rope; a bullet. Doing it was in itself an easy thing to do, but that also meant leaving behind the mess that you created. A bloody legacy to add to your own name at the conclusion of your life. Evelyn could care less about what kind of a name she left behind after her inevitable demise; she had no children, no husband, nor anyone she deemed close enough to share information about her life. Her parents no longer knew the child they raised, and her colleagues didn't know more than she allowed them to know of. There was nothing for her to leave behind but death. This was her judgment.

'Evie, just breathe, alright? You're not dying now. You're gonna live,'

"What if … I don't want to?"

'You're honestly gonna give up now when you've gotten so far?'

Was she going to do it?

"I'm … scared," she admitted, feeling her voice gradually returning to her. "I'm so scared,"

'I know, but you're not alone,'

For the first time in what felt like forever, Evelyn took a deep and successful breath, filling her lungs with air to the brink of ecstasy. Her heart rate began to decline and her fingers retracted themselves from her arms. It would undoubtedly leave bruises behind on her skin, but she would cross that bridge when she got there. She wasn't going to die. Not now.

"MARCH!"

Evelyn bolted up upon hearing her name, leaning onto the fallen table next to her for support. The demolition around her came to focus, as did all the sounds and the heat from the fire. She could find her own again, acknowledge her surroundings, perceive the ordeal in which she stood surrounded by. The reality had sunk in, and she wanted to stay there.

She wanted to live.

From behind the counter, which was surprisingly well-protected from the flames and the debris, Mr. Brock emerged, seemingly unharmed and thriving. Without wasting time, Evelyn held her breath sprinted across the flame-consumed ruins without inhaling too much of the smoke-induced air. As Mr. Brock acknowledged her approach, his first instinct was to jump over the counter in time to reach her.

"Fuck, you're actually alive," He said triumphantly, a smile threatening to spread across his lips despite everything.

Albeit she wouldn't admit it, seeing him there alive as well provided Evelyn with a sense of relief she had seldom experienced as of recently.

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his right arm, stared him straight in the eyes, and said. "Run,"

It was time for the buried to resurface, and for the resurfaced to be confronted.

The past was coming back, and there was no way to avoid it anymore.

Evelyn Rachel March
DOB: November 13th, 1989
Place of Birth: Brooklyn, NY
Nationality: American

Board Certified Speciality: Medical Oncology and Radiotherapy (2012)

Current Appointment:
- San Francisco General Hospital, Oncology Department (Since 2014)

Registered Family:
- Thomas March – Father (b. 1962)
- Rose Fredrikson – Mother (b. 1965)
- David March – Brother (b. 1986 – d. 2011)

Edward Charles Allan Brock
DOB: April 22nd, 1984
Place of Birth: San Francisco, CA
Nationality: American

Board Certified Speciality: Investigative Journalism (2008)

Current Appointment:
- [Individual Currently Lacks Employment]

Registered Family:
- Carl Brock - Father (b. 1951)
- Jamie Brock - Mother (b. 1956 – d. 1984)

Marcus Simms let his eyes drift over the files with a moderate degree of interest. A doctor and an ex-journalist, both of whom were hosts, as it turned out. If Axelsons' reports were accurate, then it could mean that the plans were already progressing at a much faster pace than they had initially assumed; much faster.

Getting a hold of the personal files had been an easy task, but to understand these individuals were another thing. They were not part of the Life Foundation (though the doctor's relationship with them was debatable), and still, their bodies seemed to collaborate with the alien lifeforms. Simms had anticipated that civilians like them would have done the most reasonable thing to get help from a hospital (As useless as it would have been), but they both seemed intent on simply escaping while they had the chance at doing so.

Either they were fools, or they already knew more of the organisms than information from six months of work at the Life Foundation could ever hope to provide with.

"These are the hosts," he spoke into his earpiece as he evaluated the files further, looking over the pictures that accommodated them. The picture of a young woman, hardly older than in her twenties, with sharp eyes and a small but distinctive cut over her right eyebrow. The picture of a man, considerably exhausted and looking as though sleep was not a privilege he had at his disposal.

"That's them," Axelson confirmed on the other line. "They're the first ones to survive contact with the organisms. Drake's currently looking for them through the city. Might be a while until I'm done with the job, Chief,"

"How long?"

"Not too long. March and Brock have successfully managed to evade the LF thus far. They're resilient; determined. They might make excellent additions,"

Simms' lips changed into a subtle snarl as he listened to this indifference. "Don't speak of them like guinea pigs, Axelson," he warned. "We're not the Life Foundation. We're not like Drake. Our objective is to protect humanity, not to exploit it,"

"The world is no playground, Chief. We need what we can get if we want this to succeed,"

As much as he loathed to admit it, Axelson did have a smidgen of truth in his words. The world was no playground, but to be willing to give up their humanity for the sake of preserving it? If that wasn't a paradox, then he didn't know what was.

Simms sighed. "Did you get the damn specimen?"

"Just like you ordered, although we might need to pull a Frankenstein on this one,"

"It will be done. For now, you are dismissed,"

"Yes, sir,"

The earpiece went quiet on the other side.