Great Salt Lake
City to the southeast, lake to the northwest. Salt crust, shallows, Antelope Island. The red fog sits over the city; the water is still pink with salt.
World
Salt Lake City.Red spores in the air.
The landmarks are real and right where they belong: Temple Square, the Great Salt Lake, the Wasatch Range. Then one night a red fog rises out of downtown, spores fine enough to settle on a windshield or slip into a lung.
Same air.
The group chat has worked out one thing: aim for the head. The next question is worse. Same street, same air: why does one person go down and get back up while the guy next to them is fine? The answers start at 4700 Wasatch Road. The key is in your gut. The trigger is in the air.
From the group chat
Aim for the head
Lao Liu saw it himself: a cop put three rounds in its chest and it stayed on its feet. To put one down, you go for the head.
Still watching
What a scratch does
From Fang Yuan's notes app: "Scratch = infection? Nothing yet. Keep watching." The three marks on his left forearm have scabbed over. No swelling. No redness.
The key is in your gutThe trigger is in the air
Factions
- Fictional organization
Crystal Society
They preyed on people nobody would come looking for, locked them away and preached the end of the world at them. When the group was broken up, the remnant went underground. Joseph leads it now. Zhao Lei's email says they never stopped.
- Gated community
Border Brotherhood
An old white-supremacist outfit that keeps to itself behind its own gates. Fang Yuan's way out may run straight through their land.
- Water, power, roads
Civic League
They went legitimate when the old order fell. Now they run the airport, the highways and the water. Every road out of Salt Lake City runs through them.
Places
Chinese restaurant · Near Temple Square
Zhou Wen's place, and Fang Yuan's first hot meal in town. His pack leans against the table leg. His eyes keep working the street. The scream comes from across the road.
The alley out back
The crowd jams the front door. He heads for the kitchen. Exit back right: fire door, alley, right at the T, away from the square. Then a narrower alley, and someone standing dead center, back turned, perfectly still.
Desert Inn
Room 8. Chain, bolt, deadlock. On the other side of the door, a woman sobs in a whisper: please, let me in. Under the door, one shadow too many.
East road · Toward the Wasatch
The Wrangler runs east toward the black wall of the Wasatch. At dawn he checks the mirror. The red fog hangs over the city, and it's climbing.
4700 Wasatch Road
The address in Zhao Lei's email: a workshop on the east side, seven miles from the restaurant. All that gets through of Lao Liu's voice note: "Don't go in the front... something underground..."