heavenward | n.scatorccio

The static crackled, pulling everyone's attention to the small, outdated box television someone had propped up in the corner of the sports hall. It had been a relic of the school's AV club, and while they'd tried to get it to work for days, the signal had been nothing but snow and ghostly blurs. Until now.

"Wait, wait—turn it up!" Van shouted, scrambling to the TV with Jeff, who was fumbling with the volume dial.

The picture was far from clear, lines of static rolled across the screen, and the audio came in and out, warped and muffled. But it was enough to make out the blurred figure of a news anchor seated at a desk, his expression grim, his tie askew.

"...continuing reports of the infected—what experts are now calling the Soma Strain..."

The room fell deathly silent as everyone crowded closer, their wet hair and fresh clothes doing little to ward off the sudden chill that ran through the air. Julianna stayed near the back, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her knees tucked to her chest, her eyes glued to the flickering screen.

The anchor's voice was shaky, like even he was struggling to process the words he was saying. "—outbreaks reported in major cities across the United States, including Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York. Overseas, similar events have occurred in London, Tokyo, Paris, and more, suggesting a global pandemic. Experts estimate the virus—dubbed the Soma Strain—began infecting individuals just over a week ago."

"A week?" Jackie whispered. "How did it get so bad so fast?"

No one answered her.

The screen flickered again, cutting to shaky footage from a helicopter. A city skyline was visible, but fires burned in the streets below. Smoke billowed into the air. Shapes, human shapes, were running, screaming, some dragging others to the ground.

"Reports indicate that the infected—commonly referred to as Somas—exhibit aggressive and erratic behavior, attacking uninfected individuals. Initial symptoms include fever, paranoia, and violent tendencies. Within twelve hours, subjects lose all cognitive reasoning, succumbing entirely to the Soma Strain."

"Twelve hours," Shauna murmured, her voice barely audible. "That's it?"

"Shh," Taissa hissed, her eyes locked on the screen.

"Currently, two distinct mutations of the strain have been identified. The most common, referred to as Runners, display heightened speed and agility, often coordinating in small groups to attack targets. Details on the second mutation remain unclear, as information is limited. Authorities advise extreme caution when encountering the infected."

Natalie, leaning against the bleachers, exhaled a curse under her breath. "Great. There's more than one kind of those things."

The screen shifted again, showing a somber-looking scientist behind a podium. His words were almost lost to the poor connection, but they caught enough to piece it together.

"Transmission occurs through bites, scratches, and exposure to bodily fluids of the infected. Once infected, symptoms develop rapidly. Avoid close contact with Somas, and under no circumstances should you attempt to engage them directly unless necessary."

"Yeah, no kidding," Travis muttered, his arms crossed tightly.

The broadcast shifted again, this time to scenes of military intervention—soldiers in full gear, barricading streets, firing into oncoming hordes of infected. Julianna flinched at the sight. It wasn't just the chaos; it was the sheer scale of it. This wasn't a single school or town. It was everywhere.

"...government-issued airstrikes have been deployed in several major cities in an effort to contain the outbreak. Civilians are advised to remain indoors and avoid contact with anyone exhibiting symptoms."

Julianna's stomach twisted. Airstrikes? They were bombing their own cities? She caught Taissa's expression, sharp and furious, like she was processing the same thought.

"Do they even have a plan?" Taissa muttered, half to herself.

The screen flickered again, and then the anchor reappeared, his face pale and his words rushed. "We encourage viewers to remain calm and follow government-issued safety protocols. Stay indoors, avoid contact with the infected, and conserve supplies. Further updates will be provided as soon as we are able. We repeat—"

And then, the screen went black.

For a moment, no one moved.

"What the hell was that?" Van finally broke the silence, her voice shaking. "That's it? That's all they're telling us? Stay inside and hope for the best?"

"That's all they know," Taissa said bitterly.

"They didn't even say how this started," Shauna added. "Or how to stop it."

Jeff, standing awkwardly near the front, cleared his throat. "Well, uh... at least we know what we're dealing with now, right?"

"Do we?" Natalie shot back, her tone sharper than usual. "Because all I got out of that was 'run faster and try not to die.'"

Misty, attempting to join the conversation through optimism, raised a hand. "We learned something important! Like how they lose control in half a day. That's good to know—and... uh... we're not bitten, so... yay?"

No one shared her enthusiasm, though Julianna glanced at her and gave a faint, appreciative nod. Misty was growing on her, in a strange way—her energy was chaotic, but at least she was trying to help.

The tension in the room was palpable, everyone processing the fragmented information in their own way. Julianna stayed quiet, her mind buzzing with questions. What was the second mutation? Why hadn't the government contained this sooner? Could they?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jackie crossed her arms and said, "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm not going to just sit here and wait to get eaten alive."

"Yeah?" Van challenged. "And what do you suggest we do, Jackie? Storm out there and take on a pack of Runners with a chair leg?"

Jackie glared but didn't respond, and Taissa quickly stepped in. "Okay, enough. We're not going to start turning on each other."

"Taissa's right," Julianna said softly, surprising even herself. "We have enough to get by for now. We're safer together."

The room quieted at that, the group slowly dispersing back to their makeshift corners. But the unease lingered, heavier than before.

Julianna leaned back against the bleachers, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. The news hadn't given them much, but it had given her one certainty: this wasn't going to end anytime soon.

By day four, they had all grown accustomed to the routines of survival: scavenge, secure, ration. The novelty of being holed up in a gymnasium had worn off, and the heavy weight of uncertainty settled in the air. Most people had stopped talking about 'when we get out of here' and instead focused on 'how we'll make it through today.'

But Shauna, resourceful as ever, had an idea.

"We should write letters," she announced over a breakfast of granola bars and half-empty water bottles.

"Letters?" Travis asked, looking unconvinced.

"Yeah, to our future selves," Shauna said, brushing crumbs off her lap. "It's something we did at camp once. You write about what's happening now, how you feel, what you're hoping for—and then, if we survive, you read it later."

Van raised an eyebrow. "You mean when we survive."

Shauna didn't correct her, but her silence spoke volumes.

Julianna, sitting cross-legged near the bleachers with her journal, tilted her head at the idea. It felt sentimental, but not in a bad way. She liked the thought of future her reading something like this, assuming future her still existed.

Shauna tore a few pages from the back of her journal and handed them out to anyone who didn't have their own paper. Julianna hesitated before offering a few pages of her own notebook, earning her a small nod of appreciation from Shauna.

"Great," Shauna said. "Write whatever you want. What you're scared of, what you hope for... or just what you'd tell yourself if you knew everything would be okay. It doesn't have to be perfect."

The gym went quiet as pens and pencils scratched against paper.

Julianna stared at the blank page in front of her for a long time.

She wasn't sure where to start. Writing wasn't the issue, she'd been filling journals for as long as she could remember. It was the audience. Herself. The idea of writing something so direct, so vulnerable, made her chest feel tight.

Eventually, she picked up her pen.

Dear Future Me,

I hope you're alive. I hope you're okay and not bit. I'm guessing if you're reading this, you made it through whatever this is, so congratulations. If not, well... I guess someone else is reading this, and that's fine too. Maybe you'll find it in your heart to not judge me for being awkward even in writing.

She tapped the pen against her knee, glancing around the gym. Misty was furiously scribbling, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Taissa sat with her back straight, writing with the same precision she brought to soccer. Natalie was leaning against the wall, occasionally stopping to chew on her pen.

Julianna kept going.

Did we ever meet any other survivors? Was there anything significant that happened in my life i should know about?
I don't know what's going to happen next, but I want you to know I'm trying. I'm learning things I never thought I'd have to learn—like how to fight and how to work with people and how to survive when the world feels like it's falling apart. I'm scared, obviously. Everyone is. But I'm also trying to remind myself that this isn't the end. It can't be. Right?

She paused, debating whether to cross that part out. Instead, she added:

Please tell me we figured it out. That we're okay. That we didn't lose everything.

Satisfied, she folded the paper neatly and tucked it into her journal.

Some of the others decided to read theirs aloud, turning it into an impromptu presentation.

Van was first, of course, standing on the bleachers like she was delivering a speech at a pep rally. "Dear Future Me," she began, "You're probably kicking ass right now. I mean, let's face it—you're basically a superhero at this point. But just in case you've forgotten, here's a reminder: you're awesome, you're strong, and you're definitely the hottest person in the apocalypse."

The group laughed, the tension breaking for a moment.

Even Travis read his, though reluctantly. His was shorter and more practical: "Dear Future Me, I hope you're still looking out for Javi. If you're not, you suck."

Julianna, unsurprisingly, kept hers to herself. She didn't see the point of sharing something so personal—it was meant for her future self, not the group. She did, however, catch Misty sneaking glances at her and offered her a small, reassuring smile. Misty grinned back, clearly pleased, and Julianna didn't mind.

By the time everyone had finished, the group felt a little lighter, a little closer.

"Okay," Shauna said, gathering the papers. "Let's keep these safe. Maybe we'll bury them somewhere or hide them. That way, if we ever come back here..."

"If?" Van teased.

Shauna rolled her eyes but smiled. "When we come back here, we'll have something to look forward to."

Julianna leaned her chin on her knees, watching as Shauna carefully folded the letters and tucked them into her backpack. It was a small thing, writing letters to a future that might not exist. But it made it feel like hope wasn't so far out of reach.

Julianna adjusted her grip on the baseball bat, the weight of it now more familiar in her hands. The hallway ahead was dim, lit only by the weak daylight seeping in through a cracked skylight. She glanced behind her, where Jackie was huddled against Jeff, her eyes darting nervously at every shadow.

"Can you two not do that?" Shauna said, irritation clear in her voice. "You're just drawing attention to us."

"I can't help it if this place looks like a scene out of a fucking horror movie" Jackie hissed, clutching Jeff's arm tightly.

Jeff looked like he wanted to say something, but instead made a gagging sound when he stepped in something wet and sticky.

Shauna sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning to Julianna. "I can't with these two right now. Let's go check out that wing. They can... hold down the fort here."

Julianna nodded, relieved. She wasn't sure how much more of Jackie's shrieks or Jeff's queasy mumbling she could handle.

As they walked further into the hallway, the sound of Jackie and Jeff bickering faded into the background. The air was heavy with the faint metallic scent of blood, mixed with the mildew of a building that had been left to rot. Shauna kept her chair leg slung over her shoulder, her steps confident, while Julianna's eyes scanned every corner, her grip tightening on her bat whenever she spotted movement.

"You're getting better at this," Shauna said after a while, her voice low but not unkind.

Julianna glanced at her, unsure if it was a compliment or just an observation. "I guess. It's not as scary anymore."

"Liar." Shauna smirked, but there was no malice in it. "It's still scary for everyone. You're just not letting it stop you. That's what matters."

Julianna shrugged, shifting the bat in her hands. "I just realized I can't afford to hesitate. Not with them. You either do it, or you don't. And if you don't, you're probably dead."

Shauna tilted her head, studying her. "You think like that a lot, don't you? All logical and...planned."

Julianna hesitated, then nodded. "It's easier to stay calm if I think about it like a problem to solve. Like, a puzzle. If I can figure out the best way to handle it, it doesn't feel as overwhelming."

"That makes sense." Shauna swung her weapon experimentally, the metal glinting in the dim light. "I'm more of a... go-with-your-gut person. Which works until it doesn't."

"You've survived this long," Julianna said, offering a small, hesitant smile.

Shauna smiled back, brief but genuine. "So have you."

They reached a blocked-off stairwell, its entrance piled high with chairs, desks, and other debris. Julianna frowned, tilting her head as she considered the mess.

"We could clear this out and use it to block one of the doors downstairs," she said, already picturing how they could redistribute the weight. "It's close to the gym, so it'd be easy to move stuff back and forth."

Shauna arched an eyebrow. "See? That's the kind of thinking we need more of."

Julianna flushed slightly, but she hid it by crouching down to examine the pile.

As they worked together to pull the debris apart, Shauna spoke again. "You know, you're not that different from me."

Julianna glanced at her, startled. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're quieter, sure, and you overthink everything, but you care. You want people to be okay, even when you don't know how to say it. You're practical. Focused." Shauna paused, pulling a desk out of the pile with a grunt. "I'm just... angrier about it, I guess."

Julianna wasn't sure how to respond to that. She focused on prying a bent chair from the tangle of junk, her mind racing.

After a moment, she finally said, "I think, you're better at getting people to listen. You're strong, even when you don't feel like it. I think that's what makes you a good leader."

Shauna looked at her, surprised, and for a moment, she didn't say anything. Then she chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You're weird, Sadecki. But, thanks."

By the time they returned to the gym, the pile had been cleared and some of it repurposed to secure an exit near the back of the building. Jackie and Jeff were still alive—though barely. Jackie had managed to smear some dirt on her clothes and was loudly complaining about it, while Jeff just looked relieved they were back.

"Finally!" Jackie exclaimed, rushing over to Shauna. "This place is, like, haunted or something. I swear I saw something move, and Jeff was zero help."

"I was busy watching for runners!" Jeff protested weakly.

Shauna ignored both of them, exchanging a glance with Julianna that said can you believe these two?

She liked that she was involved in these types of looks now.

Julianna smiled faintly, leaning her bat against the wall. She still didn't feel entirely comfortable in this group, but she thought she might be finding a place.