Read The Dawn of the Lost: Prequel to The Lost and the Wicked for Free Online Page B

I’ve been wanting to drive since I was ten.
    I take out the keys from my pocket and jingle them. “Not this time.”
    Wordlessly, we open the garage, climb into the red Starchaser, slide the key into the keyhole, and peel out. Me driving to the city while Giza sits on the passenger seat; I can’t even imagine how many times I lived this scene. Except in my daydreams the entire world wasn’t going to hell. The complete opposite. In my fantasy the top of the convertible is down. The sky is blue as I ride down toward the beach with the wind blowing through her hair. She leans in, brining with her that rosy scent of hers, and she kisses me in the cheek, confessing once and for all that she has had the biggest crush on me since forever.
    “Watch out!”
    Giza’s scream yanks me back to reality.
    I press the break and the car comes to a screeching halt. The trio of kids who dashed in front of the car, don’t even seem to register how close they came to being ran over. They run past the street, through the yard, and turn the corner, disappearing with the crowd of people.
    “What now?” Giza asks, looking back.
    Through the rear view mirror I notice a white fog racing toward us at an alarming speed. It moved past the people and the homes, knocking down everyone in its path. My throat goes dry as I press the accelerator, but before the car can even move an inch, the fog passes us. The car shakes. My heart drops to my stomach. Giza screams.
    The next few seconds trickle by in anxious silence. I had expected something bad to happen. I wasn’t sure exactly what, but something. Perhaps the car would explode. Maybe the fog was going to leak into the car and poison us. But instead, everything remains eerily silent.
    “What was that?” I ask, not really expecting a response. It’s clear that whatever is going on, it’s way beyond what any of us know. All I can gather is that we’re being attacked. But by whom? Is it another nation? Or could it be terrorists? My mind rejects all these ideas. Deep down, I know that no one on Earth possesses the kind of weapons being used in this attack. For a crazed moment, I entertain the idea that it may be aliens. But I quickly push that aside. Aliens are a product of science fiction, creatures that are to be found in comic books and movies, not in real life.
    “We should get out and help,” says Giza. Her eyes move back and forth between the dozens of people sprawled across the street and the many front lawns. Many of them are now beginning to get up. Some of them have a wild, manic look in their eyes. Drool drips from their mouths.
    Out of the crowd, emerges Mrs. Brentt. She is the librarian from school. Her usual smile is gone, replaced by an animal look. Her hungry gaze moves from side to side, finally settling on a short man who is still struggling to get to his feet.
    “Watch out!” cries Giza in vein. There is no way the man can hear us over the screams and shouts that have now begun growing louder.
    I gape in disbelief as Mrs. Brentt pounces on the unsuspecting man from behind. Her teeth, dripping with saliva, dig into the side of the man’s neck. Miraculously, the man manages to stumble a few feet forward without going down. His pained screams fill the air as he reaches back with his hand. Sloppy punches land on the librarian’s nose and forehead. She doesn’t seem to care and she bites in even deeper. Blood pours out of the man’s neck and runs down, staining his white-collared shirt.
    The man throws himself onto the ground. Mrs. Brentt loses her grip and rolls into the street. For a second, I think the man is actually going to escape. But a moment later another woman, wearing a long red dress, charges the man. She claws at his face; all the while she rips at his cheek rabid teeth. Mrs. Brentt, who has now gotten back to her feet, joins in the fray. She takes a deep bite of the man’s jugular.
    A scream drowns in his throat. Then his flailing arms and legs cease to