RELEASE DATE: 15 May 2021
The city crumbles, concrete decaying, plastic corroding…
They hunt one of the beasts causing the destruction of a petrol station, crumbling and leaking fuel throughout the parking lot.
The task: get in, slay the beast, and get out before the approaching storm arrives.
For everyone suspicious that maybe unicorns aren’t as wonderful as the propaganda suggests.
Purity
The parking lot is covered in a foot of storm water and the wind whips waves up like it’s a sea. I’ve no idea how the thing we’re hunting got stuck in a service station—or what we’ll find once we’re inside.
Beside me, Reg shifts, his dark, lined face twitching and flickering like it has a life of its own. “Think we should do it?” he mutters.
I jerk my head in a nod that feels precariously like falling. “Of course we should.”
He rearranges the shotgun under his trench coat and we set out.
The dark concrete of the parking lot turns the water inky grey, and oil slicks float on the surface. The water seeps into my boots, probing with icy fingers that set me shivering even through the garbage bags I’m wearing as waterproof knee-high socks. The wind cuts through my thin coat—it doesn’t help that one sleeve is nearly torn off and the buttons are all missing—and all that, combined with the hunger gnawing in my stomach, is almost enough to make me wish we hadn’t set out on this foolhardy quest in the first place. But sadly, when you’re hunting a unicorn, there’s no stopping till it’s dead—or you are.
Reg trudges on, heavy steps sloshing and splashing the foul water, and I follow resignedly.
All over town, it’s like this now: half submerged, water leeching oil and tar and carbon monoxide and other toxic chemicals from the buildings. It’s only been a month, but the Southlands are crumbling; their concrete was cheap, sand-filled stuff, the bricks half-backed clay, none of it strong enough to withstand the onslaught.
One of Reg’s splashes catches me on the cheek, and I reel for a moment as the water zaps like electricity. I wipe it off with the back of my sleeve, knowing that where it’s been, my skin will be left glowing and fresh. I can totally understand why the first victims fell willingly, bathing themselves in water that seemed to create perfection.
Thank heavens I have goggles on.
The wind brings steel grey clouds to boil overhead, and I prod Reg in the back. “Storm’s coming.”
He glances up, exhales heavily, and carries on.
A downpour will be the end of us if we don’t find shelter—but we’re close now, touchingly close, and we couldn’t break away even if we tried.
The service station looms ahead, casting a shadow even in this dim, directionless light. It’s a toad hulking in the corner of its pond, waiting for a fly to mistake it for a boulder, ready to dart out its tongue and consume the unwary. Light radiates from windows that are crystal clear, dripping sludge marks below their panes the only remnants of their former dirt-and-oil film. Somewhere in there, working to purify the whole damn world, is the unicorn.