She screamed. The dogs were pressed together in a pack like so many drops of poison, so many knives and needles, intermixed, all yearning to rip her to shreds.

“Halt!” the man in the white lab coat commanded. He leaned over her. She could smell a familiar scent emanating from him -- the smell of death. He took her arms and pinned them down, his blank face giving nothing away. She tried to fight back, but there was no point. She knew she couldn’t win. They had seen her open the door to the lab where the vials were kept. They knew she knew. They couldn’t let her live. The man took something out of his pocket. It glinted in the moonlight. She knew what it was, and she saw it come toward her. The man whispered something into her ear, and then the world, her world, went black.

Where am I?

The numbness was spreading. Shooting down her arms like missiles. She opened her eyes and black spots danced everywhere. Her chest felt like it had been trampled by elephants. Every moment, every breath, hurt. A burning sensation was taking over her mind. Pictures of death, of blood, raced through her head, lightning fast. She didn’t want to die, yet she knew that this was how it was meant to be. The end was near. She saw the needle again and again, the sharp point sinking into her heart. The voice of the man in the white lab coat sent shivers shooting down her spine:

“Good-bye little girl. Soon, you and all the other third children will be dead.”

It all started the day it all ended. The screaming, the kids dropping, one by one, the coughing, the vomiting, the smell of death. It all started that day. The day the disease first hit and killed the children in families who already had two children. And then, when the dust had cleared and millions were dead, the megacity was gone. What remained were shocked families; grief-stricken and broken-hearted. The megacity had become nothing more than the tattered hearts of the grievers. It was July 11, 2060. Ironically, it was World Population Day.

It wasn’t always this way. In 2053, this megacity was crawling with people. Like a big giant water balloon threatening to burst, everything was teetering on the edge. The citizens choked on the ever-present smoke in the air while trying to find food. They saved every last scrap and ate anything they could find. But it wasn’t enough. So the gangs formed and the stealing began. There was fighting on the streets and in the alleys, and the tiny scraps of leftover food were running out. That was seven years ago. But after the disease hit, there was enough food for everyone. Life was better, but there were still holes in the hearts of people who had lost loved ones. For most, those experiences burned forevermore in their hearts and minds. Those experiences would never go away. But what could they do? They couldn’t stop the disease from attacking because it wasn’t released on purpose…or was it?

It was a small, gray room with no windows. She was in a dog crate with three giant bolts on it. She saw a tunnel across the room shimmering and beckoning her.

Take me now, she thought.

The horrible memories were rising, just like the bile in her throat. She tried to force down the pain, the agony, but the memories resurfaced. Her little brother’s gray, speculating eyes and curly blond hair. His pale, drawn face. His beautiful eyes filled with pain. Then his eyes closed, and never opened again. She had foolishly thought that she was strong enough, tough enough to face them. But now, she was dying too. She had tried to warn the world that the disease had been unleashed purposely, but she had failed. She was just another seven-year-old kid standing in their way. In the way of a “new era.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dr. Harder stood on the top of the roof and looked out at his city. His white lab coat billowed in the breeze. He smiled a smile that contained no warmth whatsoever. He had saved the city from poverty and filth. He had killed a few, but saved many. Peace was restored. Everyone had plenty of food. All he had had to do was eliminate the children and reduce the population. All he had needed was a disease.

He looked at his hi-tech holographic monitor showing every corner of the city.

“The population is growing again,” he mused. The scientists around him tensed and looked at him. The doctor stood with his pale fingers clasped. His cold, hard face gave away nothing. His dark, black eyes glinted dangerously. “Prepare it!” he commanded, and everyone sprung into action. They loaded the desoplex-sprayer with the special formula Dr. Harder had come up with himself. Then, they fired.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She heard it as if it were right next to her. She heard the screaming and the cries for help. It was happening again. They were killing the population again. Suddenly, she heard a scream. It was the scream of a little girl. She was crying and pleading to be spared. A plea that would never be answered. The little girl would die, along with all the others. The room was closing in on her again and she was feeling claustrophobic. Over and over she could see her brother’s eyes close. Over and over she could hear her mother screaming, her shrill voice piercing the tiny room.

A little boy with gray eyes and blond hair appeared in front of the cage. He smiled at her and whispered her name.

“Hope.” Her brother, like her name, was a ray of hope. The pictures flashed through her mind again. Hollows Road. Her home. The place where she grew up was gone. There was no one left. They were all gone. His smile faltered. She saw her brother’s gray eyes fill with pain and tears. The last thing she ever saw. For like hope, she was dead. She had fought the battle, and lost.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dr. Harder looked at number 100,967,000,233. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was sleeping, but he knew she was dead. She was but another dead child. And yet, she had tried. She had tried to stop him and his plans to reduce the population. But she had failed. As he looked at her small, innocent face and her curly blond hair, he felt something like a twitch of remorse and guilt.

He quickly shook his head. He was doing something for the people and some day, they would thank him. And yet, he knew, deep in his heart, what he needed to do. He took out his needle, filled with the most dangerous toxin in the world. He raised the needle and looked at the row of quivering children lined up in front of him. Then, in one swift motion, he stabbed the needle into himself.