Day One Lynch Scene - Press Released

"The rock struck Piggy a glancing blow from chin to knee; the conch exploded into a thousand white fragments and ceased to exist."

William Golding, Lord of the Flies

Vera took a scrap of a torn up tee shirt and used it to mop the sweat off the back of her neck, looking from face to face as the survivors formed a loose circle around the campfire. The array of vehicles and supplies they had managed to get through the tangle of abandoned cars was set up just off the road in a large suburban park where they had decided to settle for the night.

It had been a long, tense day, full of suspicious looks and whispered conversations centered around Vern’s death. Murder, really – everyone could agree that foul play was involved, even if they could decide who was responsible. It didn’t help that Vera had slept poorly, and some of the others looked tired as well. World weary, perhaps – burnt out on just trying to make it through another day in this dark new reality – but something told her there was a little more to it than that. Every time she thought to mention the dreams to someone, though, there was something that needed to be done. A store to search for more supplies, an argument to settle; the latter came naturally to Vera and by the end of the day she was being sought out to make decisions and resolve issues. It kept her busy and distracted, but now that same atmosphere of underlying stress was making her feel cagey and anxious. She was sure she wasn’t the only one.

“Alright,” she said, getting to her feet and clapping her hands together twice. “I think it’s time to clear the air.”

Her fellow survivors quieted down and looked up at her, some with understanding and others with expressions of annoyance at her interruption. She thought she could work with this group, though.

“It’s been a tough time for all of us – a –tough- time – but we worked together real well today and I think if we stick together we can make it somewhere a lot safer than here. Somewhere with more people, where we can all start again. I know we all have loved ones that we miss, that we lost to the flu…”

“Not Vern,” someone cried with more vehemence than Vera thought was strictly necessary for a man none of them really knew, “Vern didn’t die of the flu, he was –murdered-!”

“Yeah, and some of us know who did it!”

“Now hold on a minute,” Vera shouted, backing up a little from the now frenzied crowd. “I don’t think…”

“Yeah, it was that reporter guy – Kyle Evans!”

Kyle Evans looked up from struggling to open a can of beanie weenies at the mention of his name, his expression completely bewildered. “Oh –come on-! You’re not seriously pinning this on me!”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, -murderer-?”

Kyle reluctantly put down his can of hotdogs and beans and got to his feet, looking more annoyed than frightened at the angry mob, and dusted off his pants. “This is nuts – I like a good conspiracy theory as much as the next guy but this is –way- too far out to me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sleep in my ca…hey, who threw that!? Ow, geez, quit it guys…”

The crowd didn’t seem interested in ‘quitting it’, though – they had the reporter surrounded and were venting their hostility by throwing rocks and debris at him. Things were definitely getting mean and, try as she might, Vera couldn’t put a stop to it. There was an element to this group that she had missed, a kind of hidden savage nature bubbling all too close to the surface. These people hadn’t survived the flu, the deaths of their families and friends, the sudden cruelty of this dying world, just to be picked off by some crazy killer in their midst, regardless of what the kindly Mother Abigale from her (their?) dreams might say on the matter. The fact was, she might not even be real, but the brutal murder last night certainly was.

In short, these survivors weren’t interested in taking any crap.

Kyle continued to holler loudly as things got more vicious. The circle was closing in, and now people were striking out with their fists in addition to throwing things.

“Ow, knock it off, that –hurt-…hey, hey, no biting, what the hell, come on…”

Soon enough his cries of protest were drowned out by the shouts of the crowd, mostly encouraging him to ‘die, filthy murderer, die’. Kyle continued to try to back up, to find a gap in the crowd and escape, and it was while he was in the process of turning around that the half full (or perhaps half empty, in Kyle’s case) bottle of Jack Daniels hit him full out in the head, knocking him out cold.

After that, the crowd closed in completely, making quick work of him with their feet.

Vera stood back, horrified but helpless to stop the mob until it was far too late. This situation was completely out of control, and she found herself rather frightened by this seemingly meek group of survivors. Once she recognized that fear, though, she thought she could reign it in - she stood up on the hood of one of the cars, shouting down to the group.

“Are you happy now? –Another- person is dead! Have you people seen so much death that it doesn’t –matter- to you?” Stopping for breath, she looked around at the survivors, checking to see if she had their attention. She’d lost control of the mob once, but maybe she could get it back.

“What happened to sticking together? To working as a team for a common goal?” Well, to be fair, they –had- displayed some good solid teamwork fundamentals in that mass killing of the reporter, but Vera didn’t think this was the time to mention that. “Look, we’re never going to make it to a better place if we keep –killing- each other. We’re just going to have to try trusting each other instead – we need to trust that everyone is after the same thing here. A clean start, and a new life.”

The group was mostly silent now, save a few mumbles, but Vera thought they had gotten the message. She jumped down off the car and the crowd dispersed, heading in all directions before Vera called them back.

“Oh no you don’t! We’re all sleeping here tonight. Right here around the fire.” She nodded firmly. “-Trust-, guys.”

The moment the survivors started seeking out locked doors to hide behind, Vera thought half the battle was lost. She would make a team of them yet, she thought as she watched the group set up camp for the night. They would go to a place where it was safe, and orderly, and people were getting on with their lives. Maybe they would even go to the place she had dreamed about.

Yes, she thought. Las Vegas would be a good place to settle down.