Inside Killing Air

The dogs didn't care for the fresh meat behind the window, despite being able to smell it. They have no concept of self, but they know when something is inaccessible, and pointless in venturing to, unless they had thumbs for throwing bricks, but they didn't.

They're interest trecked towards the twenty minute old dead man at the curb's edge. He had been the last to fall after the grayest clouds of the coolest nights passed over the city's seemingly endless stretch. The lights in the buildings stayed on, while those that had closed their doors hours earlier remained silent, nearly deaf, and completely devoid of life. The breeze swam through the vents, tagging the unknown killer with it, spreading throughout the buildings, and around the corners of the city blocks. Parents awaited their children to come home, loved ones waited for their spouses, and these dogs were waiting for their owners, but since they never showed, they figured the first meal they found, was the one that wasn't moving, and smelled like what they ususally found in their bowl.

There was no undead magic working that night. No corpses to be reanimated, no biblical spell realing in the atmosphere. It was an unlikely phenomena rearing its ugly head, and taking up nature's course for ensuring the Earth's survival as a planet, and as a cargo holder for whatever species are strong enough to live on it.

No one ever expected survival to be so painful, really. Their nerves seized on the spot, every muscle feeling like a conductor for acid and electricity that had nowhere to discharge. It just stayed, causing their eardrums to explode, blood pouring down their lobes, their eyes swelling, some bursting out of frustration, even fear.

The worst part, no one screamed. No one cried. No one heeded warning. They couldn't. Their voice boxes had melted, sinking down their throats, everyone choking, drowning in the remains of their own insides.