Hope had always believed that running was easier than thinking.
When her feet were moving, everything else seemed to fall into place.
The rhythm of her breathing gave her something predictable to concentrate on, while the steady slap of her shoes against the pavement pushed every unnecessary thought farther into the background.
Problems that seemed complicated while she sat staring at them usually became smaller after five miles.
This morning, however, the thoughts refused to disappear.
She had already run nearly six miles along the quiet streets bordering the eastern side of Riverton, and the question was still waiting for her.
What am I going to do with my life?
Hope slowed as she approached the river trail, allowing herself to drop from a run into an easy jog.
The Blackwater glittered beneath the early morning sunlight, broad and dark beneath the trees.
Mist hovered over the water in thin patches, slowly disappearing as the sun climbed higher.
She stopped beside the railing and rested her hands against it.
At eighteen, Hope knew what she was good at.
She was strong and she was disciplined.
She could run farther than most people she knew, lift more than many of the guys at her gym, and hold her own during boxing sessions.
She had spent years teaching herself that improvement wasn’t something that happened by accident.
You worked for it.
You showed up when you didn’t feel like showing up.
You did another repetition when your muscles were burning.
But none of that answered the bigger question.
School was almost finished.
Her classmates had been talking about universities, jobs, apprenticeships, travel, relationships, and all the other things people apparently knew they wanted.
Hope didn’t have any idea what she wanted to do.
She had considered university.
She had considered becoming a physical therapist, perhaps a personal trainer, maybe something involving sports science.
She had even looked into emergency services because she liked the idea of doing something useful.
Unfortunately nothing had felt right.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her running shorts.
Hope pulled it out.
A message from her aunt.
Don’t forget breakfast.
And please remember your uncle’s birthday tonight.
Hope smiled.
I won’t forget, I’ll remember to call.
She replied.
She put the phone away.
Her aunt and uncle had been looking after her for most of her life.
They weren’t her parents, and neither of them had ever pretended to be.
But they had given her a home after she lost her parents, raised her, worried about her, argued with her, encouraged her, and somehow survived eighteen years of Hope’s stubbornness.
Right now they were supposed to be enjoying a quiet vacation.
They had left four days earlier, promising to be back in another week.
Hope had teased them about escaping without her.
Her aunt had laughed and told her that eighteen meant she was old enough to survive alone for a few days.
Hope hadn’t realized how true that statement might become.
She turned away from the river.
Something felt wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not frightening.
Just wrong.
She couldn’t explain it but something in her gut said it is time to head home.
Maybe it was the question that had followed her through the entire run.
Maybe it was the strange heaviness in her chest.
Maybe she was simply tired.
Hope started walking back toward home.
Halfway there, she stopped.
The world seemed to become strangely quiet.
The distant traffic disappeared.
The birds vanished.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Hope looked around seeing nothing had changed.
Then a translucent window appeared in front of her.
She stared at it.
It wasn’t actually in front of her.
There was no screen, no reflection, no projector.
Yet she could see it with absolute clarity.
White letters appeared against a dark background.
[Compatibility confirmed.]
Hope blinked but the message remained.
She reached toward it.
Her fingers passed through empty air.
Then another line appeared.
[System initialization beginning.]
Hope’s heart began pounding.
“What the hell?” The words changed.
[Host: Hope]
[Age: 18]
[Physical condition: Excellent]
[Compatibility: Exceptional]
Hope stared.
She looked behind herself.
Nobody was there.
She looked toward the road.
Cars were moving normally again.
A cyclist passed without giving her a second glance.
Hope looked back at the impossible screen.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Either I’m losing my mind, or something very strange is happening.”
The next message appeared.
[Global Event Warning.]
Her stomach tightened.
[Estimated time until Event: 30 days, 4 hours, 17 minutes.]
Hope’s mouth went dry.
“What event?” The system didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, another window appeared.
[Primary threat classification: Biological.]
[Projected civilian casualties: Extreme.]
[Projected societal disruption: Catastrophic.]
[Probability of global destabilization: 97.84%.]
Hope read the numbers twice.
Then a third time.
She looked toward the road again.
People were still going about their morning.
A woman walked her dog.
A man carried a coffee toward a parked car.
Two teenagers stood outside a convenience store laughing about something.
Normal.
Everything looked normal.
Hope looked back at the system.
“Thirty days?”
[Confirmed.]
“What’s going to happen?”
The answer appeared slowly.
[Information unavailable.]
Hope frowned.
“Unavailable?”
[System knowledge restricted.]
That was somehow worse.
She stared at the countdown.
Thirty days.
Four hours.
Seventeen minutes.
Something catastrophic was coming.
She didn’t know what.
She didn’t know why.
She didn’t know whether anyone else knew but it was said as if it was complete fact.
And somehow, impossibly, she had been warned.
Hope sat down on the bench beside the trail.
Her mind began racing.
A global event, what was that?
A terrorist attack?
War?
A meteor?
A disease?
Some kind of natural disaster?
She immediately rejected the first two.
The system had specifically identified a biological threat.
Disease.
That seemed impossible.
There were outbreaks every year.
New viruses appeared.
Governments monitored them.
Scientists studied them.
Hospitals treated them.
But catastrophic?
Global destabilization?
Ninety-seven percent?
Hope rubbed her forehead.
“Why me?” For the first time, the system answered with something other than a warning.
[Host selection criteria unavailable.]
“That’s not an answer.”
[Correct.]
Hope stared at the screen.
Then, despite everything, she laughed.
It was a nervous laugh.
“At least you’re honest.” The system disappeared.
Hope remained on the bench.
For several minutes she did nothing.
Then she stood up.
She had no idea what was coming.
But she knew one thing.
Thirty days was not much time.
Hope had never been particularly good at waiting for something bad to happen.
Since she was a kid she preferred doing something about it.
She started walking home.
Her pace increased.
By the time she reached the end of the trail, she was running again.