[ WP ] `` Until the problem of spontaneous combustion is solved , humans are not allowed in or near any densely populated areas . ''

`` Do not go past the red line. You will be shot. Do not - -'' The soldier continued to repeat herself from a tower a few meters away. There was a dangerous crowd gathering below. Angry voices shouted up, and across, their yelling having as little impact on the chain-link fence as on the soldiers on the other side of it. 
 
 
 Daniel had risked his life to turn up to collect supplies. He and his son had not eaten for a few days- not properly anyway. He'd missed his chance to escape the city before it had been cordoned off, and his wife had fled when that latest news report had dominated social media and television. People were exploding. These were n't particularly large scale, but were enough to terrorise every family, community, and country across the planet. Lock-downs were the new norm, and personal space was no longer a grunted wish on a subway, or crowded street, it was a fear-induced demand; a legislated necessity. Supply depots, though, had become bastions of insanity. 
 
 
 He squeezed in alongside another man, and his boy, and the same around him. He watched them yell and scream, unheard, next to him, until he realised his mistake. Any of these people could combust at any moment. He would have nothing to take home to his son if he were to die. Daniel turned to escape back through the relentless crowd, he pushed past a man almost two heads taller than him, forcing both to knock other people like billiard balls. The other guy frowned, but ignored Daniel in his retreat and pushed forward. Daniel got some more distance, and was almost at the back of the crowd when he heard it. A sickening wet *pop*, almost like a bullet escaping flesh. He turned back, the crowd had grown noisier and were now trying to escape. Someone had combusted, and was burning and grabbing frantically at their clothes. The victim towered above the rest of the crowd; a flaming lighthouse in a sea of anger and fear. Daniel could smell him; his flesh getting crisp. Hair singeing. He heard the muffled noises escaping from his burning trachea. The crowd pushed on one another and began to flee. A shot sounded from somewhere. Then another. He was shoved in the back, an unforgiving belting, and fell to the concrete. Before he could scramble fully to his feet, another foot hit his head, then another wrapped in a black, steel capped boot. Daniel collapsed, and passed out. 
 
 He woke to a MP pointing a rifle at his face. She took a few steps back when he grunted and rubbed at his bloody nose. She was surprised he was alive. An officer yelled something from behind her and she moved back further. She continued to yell, but Daniel couldn ’ t make it out with his ears ringing. The MP turned back, walked back a few more paces. And soon a group of women in clean, fresh uniforms, were gathered a few meters away. He sat up, hands on his head. 
'' Move away from here. We got nothing left… Go home!'' She yelled. He half crawled, half staggered away, before risking a bullet, and followed her instruction. 
 
 
 The TV was off- channels weren ’ t broadcasting anymore. No internet. No newspapers. Just the memory of the last communication haunting him. Men were exploding. He looked at his son, playing Jenga with himself at the coffee table. Alone. A ticking time bomb like every other male in the world. He thought of that broadcast that pushed away his wife, led her to abandon them both to their fate. 
 
 `` Until the problem of spontaneous combustion is solved, humans are not allowed in or near any densely populated areas. Both male and female.'' Daniel opened the locked draw by the useless phone, and pulled out a handgun. His hands shook. The cold from the shock of being unconscious and threatened gave way to a warm feeling as he made his way closer to his son… 

