Beyond the Horizon(An apocalypse novel)

Chapter 6: Henry

It looped twice before the vice-principal asked it to be turned off. He glanced around hesitantly before speaking.

"Does anyone else see a screen?"

A wave of mumbled, relieved replies told him all he needed to know.

"I see... We’ll investigate this, but for now, remain where you are. My previous instructions still stand. You’ve heard it from the president; help is on the way, we just have to hold out a little."

The tension in the room dissipated slightly at the announcement. Only slightly, though—there was a corpse-sized problem preventing anyone from lowering their guards.

"Mr. Morgan, can you..."

A group of teachers called for him. The VP glanced at the corpse, frowning before heading towards them, swiping the air in front of him as he did so.

They spoke in hushed tones afterwards, so there was nothing Miles could eavesdrop on. He turned his attention to the screen still floating before him.

’Status? Traits and Skills? Is this some sort of game?’

He remembered reading some online novels on the matter. But that was that; someone just died. It clearly wasn’t a game, not remotely so.

’Then what?’

The text from earlier felt particularly indicative of their predicament, but even then, he couldn’t understand what any of it was supposed to mean. Not to mention his status contents.

’Dissociative... how do I have a skill called delusion? Is it insulting me?’

He didn’t understand how it was meant to be used, or how it affected him. That is, if any of it was even real to begin with.

Miles shook his head. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

Pulling his phone out of his hoodie, he rapidly dialed a number, immediately pressing the phone against his ear afterwards.

"Anny... Come on... Come on... pick it up."

He spoke beneath his breath, trying not to spread his anxiety to the wounded beside him.

It didn’t even ring.

"The number you are trying is unavailable at the moment, please hol—"

He cut the call before the automated message finished playing, quickly dialing another number.

It rang this time. Once, twice, and continued, yet no one picked up.

Miles frowned, staring at the number, before trying again.

It rang. Once, twice, then finally...

"Hello, Miles? Ugh... why is it so cold?"

"Henry! Henry, are you at home now!?"

There was a sound of clothes shifting in the background before Henry yawned.

"Oh... yeah. You want me to come pick you up?"

"Check the news."

"Why?"

"Just check it!"

"Alright, if you really want me to... so damn cold."

He mumbled the last part out. Miles heard a television switch on right after.

"Anything else, kiddo?"

"Have you tried calling Anny? Can you reach her?"

A familiar buzz bled through the call. The distorted EAS voice mixing with it.

"No. Not really... is... is this real?"

"Yes. Please call Anny."

"Wait..."

There was a scramble on the other side; he heard clothes, curtains, glass, and the ever-present roar of the wind.

"Shit!"

"H-Henry! Can you hear me?"

"Yeah. Where are you now?"

"I’m in school. I... I’m safe. I can’t get in touch with Anna."

"She’s nearby; it shouldn’t be hard to reach her if I drive."

"Wait—"

"No, I think I have to go."

"Try calling her first, or her teachers. It’s dangerous out there."

"Yeah. I will. Try on your end too. If it doesn’t..."

"Wait a few more hours; the snow might let up any moment now."

"No. I can’t hide here, especially when she’s so close by. There’s an air conditioner, so I’ll be fine. Worry about yourself for now."

"It’s not just—"

"I’ll call her now, then her teachers before heading out. Tell me if anything happens. I’ll message you before I leave, and call you when I get back."

"Hen—"

"Call you later, kid."

The call cut.

Miles looked at the screen, his hand hovering above the number again, before switching it off. It wasn’t like Henry was going to answer anyway; when that man got going, not much could really stop him.

He could only hope Anna or her teachers picked up.

He lowered the phone, glancing around to find similar scenes around him. A mix of emotions clouded the faces of students and staff.

Most prominent among them being worry. Uncertainty about the future.

The boy shook his head, turning his attention from the mess and onto his status screen once again. It had never vanished from his line of sight.

An idea popped into his head at that moment.

"Status."

It blinked out of his view.

He called out again. The screen was back in his view.

’It works.’

The mechanism reminded him of some novels he’d recently gotten into. Its contents, however, were entirely different.

He focused on his trait. The part was singled out in response, and a small line of text appeared below its description.

[Dissociative: NONE OF THIS IS REAL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL. NONE OF THIS IS REAL....]

[Effects: The user is less affected by external stimuli.]

"Hmmm..."

He glanced at his phone. There was still no message.

Then he checked his sides for anyone watching before pinching and twisting the back of his palm.

It hurt. The pain felt as sharp as ever.

Yet he made no visible reaction, as though the pain only affected part of him. The parts of him meant to process that pain worked just fine. The parts meant to produce a reaction, to express what he’d processed, felt dull and muddled.

’Is this what it means?’

Miles couldn’t be sure. Anything he felt might’ve just been his mind playing tricks on him, for all he knew. It was hard to be objective about it.

He shifted his gaze down to his skills.

[Delusion].

Even after focusing on it, no new text appeared.

He thought about using the skill. Yet even then, nothing happened.

Shelving that section for further testing, he noticed a strobing icon at the very bottom of the section.

[Pylon nearby.]

A sudden flash of his phone screen pulled his attention away from the notification.

It was a message.

"They didn’t answer."