Chapter Three

Prompts: Must have the word "gun" and must have a philosophical statement said or thought. Prompts are in bold.

The memory thieves swept across Northern California as if nothing could stop them. It wasn’t arrogance. It just had never happened before. No world had ever been able to stop them from taking what they sought.

The thieves felt no guilt at their actions. They couldn’t. In fact, they felt nothing other than what their hosts had felt and experienced.

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“Today’s top story, a new strain of the flu hits Northern California. Folks, this has all the makings of a pandemic. In only three days, nearly forty percent of the people of San Francisco have been affected.”

The anchorman read from the teleprompter, trying to not let the concern he felt show through to his television audience. He had been at this business for a lot of years. This was the first time he felt genuine fear. Somehow, this wasn’t like a war on some distant shore. This was real. This was hitting home all around him.

He lived just twenty miles north of San Francisco in the small town of Novato.

“The symptoms are severe. Those affected become disoriented. Many cannot even remember who they are. There have been unconfirmed cases of people forgetting to eat or even dress before going outside. The CDC is cautioning everyone to stay inside. Don’t go to work. Don’t even go out into your yard. Get inside and shut all of your windows.”

He wondered if he had just spread the seeds of mass hysteria. One had to be careful not to say too much on air in such a situation. Once the words were out there, it was hard as hell to get them back; sort of like trying to take salt off of mashed potatoes.

A note was handed to him from off the screen. He read it before finally giving up any pretense at professionalism.

He stood up and said, “There are reports of people with guns shooting at those affected. Dead bodies are being piled up in the streets and set on fire.”

After hesitating for a moment, he walked off the set.

“I have to get to my family,” was all that he said to his producer as he fled past. The producer just stood there and stared ahead; wondering where he was.

Word count 376
Running count 1267