The Last Survivor
752 Words
The rain had stopped before dawn.
By morning, the courthouse steps were already crowded.
Reporters gathered behind metal barricades, photographers adjusted their lenses, and police officers repeated the same instructions no one intended to follow.
“Stay behind the barrier.”
Nobody listened.
Julian arrived early.
He always did.
The first person at a scene noticed things the tenth person never would.
He stood across the street with a paper cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
His eyes never left the courthouse entrance.
At precisely 9:00 a.m., two black SUVs rolled to the curb.
The crowd stirred.
Camera shutters began firing before the doors even opened.
One officer stepped out.
Then another.
They scanned the crowd with practiced eyes.
Only then did the rear passenger door open.
A man stepped onto the pavement.
No handcuffs.
No body armour.
No smile.
He wore a charcoal-grey coat despite the warmth of the morning.
His expression was unreadable.
Someone in the crowd shouted,
“Did you kill them?”
Another voice followed.
“Why are you still alive?”
More questions erupted.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Were you paid to stay quiet?”
“Are the suicides connected?”
He didn’t answer a single one.
Not because he couldn’t.
Because he’d learned long ago that silence was safer than the wrong sentence.
The officers guided him toward the courthouse entrance.
Halfway there…
He stopped.
Just for a second.
His gaze shifted over the crowd.
Not searching.
Recognising.
Julian followed his line of sight.
An elderly man stood near the back, holding a folded black umbrella.
Nothing unusual.
Except…
The umbrella was closed.
The sun was shining.
The old man smiled.
Barely.
Then he tipped the umbrella once.
A small, deliberate movement.
The survivor’s face drained of colour.
An officer touched his arm.
“Sir?”
The moment broke.
The old man turned and disappeared into the crowd before Julian could reach him.
“Damn it.”
Julian pushed between two cameramen.
“Move.”
By the time he reached the pavement…
The old man was gone.
No umbrella.
No trace.
Only hundreds of strangers moving in different directions.
⸻
The hearing lasted less than forty minutes.
Another review.
Another list of questions.
Another official statement.
No new answers.
When the courthouse doors opened again, the reporters surged forward.
Microphones stretched into the air.
Questions crashed over one another.
“Do you remember anything?”
“Have the police contacted you about the latest death?”
“Do you believe someone is targeting the survivors?”
He kept walking.
The officers did their best to hold the crowd back.
Julian didn’t join them.
He waited.
Not for a quote.
For an opening.
He got one.
Near the corner of the courthouse, away from the cameras.
The survivor paused beside a bench.
Just long enough.
Julian stepped into his path.
“I only need one minute.”
Blue eyes met his.
Tired.
Older than twenty-eight should have looked.
“I’ve already said everything.”
“Not to me.”
A flicker of annoyance.
“No.”
Julian reached into his satchel.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He removed a clear evidence sleeve.
Inside…
A silver train ticket.
The survivor froze.
Only for a heartbeat.
But Julian saw it.
“You’ve seen one before.”
“No.”
“You recognised it.”
“I said no.”
Julian took one step closer.
“The fourth survivor had one when he died.”
Silence.
“The police didn’t release that information.”
Another silence.
Then, quietly…
“Where did you get it?”
Julian didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he asked,
“Why are you the only survivor who was never allowed to collect your belongings from the train?”
The question landed like a punch.
The survivor stared at him.
For the first time…
Not with irritation.
With confusion.
“…What?”
Julian watched him carefully.
“You didn’t know.”
It wasn’t a question.
The survivor’s voice dropped.
“What are you talking about?”
Julian opened his mouth—
A deafening screech split the air.
Brakes.
A delivery truck skidded across the intersection.
People screamed.
The truck mounted the curb.
Straight toward them.
Julian shoved the survivor backwards.
Metal crashed into the stone bench.
Concrete exploded beneath the impact.
The truck stopped inches from where they had been standing.
Smoke poured from the engine.
For one impossible second…
Everything was silent.
Then the driver’s door creaked open.
Empty.
There was no driver.
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