by J. L. Wood
“Oh my God, Missy,” Mary whispered. “You were telling the truth?”
Missy hushed Mary. “Wait.”
A woman with long silky black hair leaned toward the microphone. She wore a cotton sundress that she continuously readjusted as the wind blew. She gave a sly smile. “Well, I’m so glad you asked. We are completely fucked.”
“Okay, okay, remember we are on air.”
“Oh, I remember! Our new alien overlords are going to probe us and kill us. Or kill us then probe—”
The reporter pulled the microphone away. “The crowd here has offered a lot of colorful opinions. We have been unsuccessful in reaching out to NASA and the governor. The mayor of Houston has sent ‘thoughts and prayers,’ but as you can see here, when questions remain unanswered, the community develops their own narrative.
“Authorities have attempted to block off the area, but scavengers have already taken to the dead bodies, stealing wallets and jewelry, as well as house keys, in their quest to find supplies.” The reporter paused for a moment as she muted her microphone and spoke to someone off screen. She frowned, then continued, “The police chief will hold a news conference briefly. We were able to gather from his staff that the deaths here were from cyanide poisoning, and due to all of the deaths in Houston, there is no storage for the bodies. Back to you in the newsroom, Tom.”
The screen cut to the newsroom. A well-groomed man with an expensive haircut sat straight-faced. “Thank you, Susan. This has been a devastating two weeks here in Houston. We will keep checking back for more developments. Now, for a different view of L8, we have biologist Shannon Triddel. Shannon, what were your findings in regard to L8?”
Missy stared at the screen in disbelief. The biologist seemed nervous. Her eyes darted around the screen, full of excitement.
“Thank you. I had been told that the relief centers were instructed not to test any blood samples—to send them directly to the CDC through official transporters. That’s their fancy term for ‘carrier.’ Anyway, I took—I acquired samples from a relief center and tested them. They had the creatures from the leaked photos in them. The creatures are in the blood of those infected with L8. The government and CDC have been lying to us. That’s why they took off with Project LMS.”
The news reporter nodded. “For those of you just tuning in, Project LMS is reportedly an evacuation plan that only a select few of the country’s elite are a part of. Their mission is to stay safe and reconstruct the planet after a disaster. This information was leaked from an insider at NASA who stated that the space exploration company, Cadence Science, discovered an anomaly in the Southern Pinwheel Galaxy and sent a team of astronauts to investigate it. There, our brave astronauts were met by an alien species. The aliens are said to be hostile, and although we do not have an actual picture of them, we do have several artists’ renditions.”
A computer-rendered picture of one of the creatures found in Messier 83 popped up on the screen beside the reporter. It had a hard brown circular casing with small thin tentacles extruding from its body and a small round mouth with fang-like teeth. Two small antennae stood erect at the top of its circular body, about ninety degrees from its mouth. Missy felt light-headed and gripped the arm of one of the chairs in the living room, eventually pulling herself into its seat. A dozen thoughts ran through her mind all at once. Don’s friends worked for Cadence, and that was precisely where they’d sent him. And the aliens were hostile. The news never said if the team had made it back or not, or who manned the ship—Don could have been killed out there.
“Missy, talk to me. That’s Don, right? I thought you were joking before. It’s real? What you said earlier. All of it?”
Missy tried to hold back the tears, but they broke through when she tried to speak. “Yes…I…I…told him to go.” Mary sat on the armchair with her, tightly hugging her friend, both of their eyes affixed to the screen in front of them.
The newscaster, Tom, now sat near a picture of a man in a polo. Missy squinted through the tears. “That…that’s the guy that was here with Don. Jeremy, no, no, Justin.”
“The leak also confirmed that the creatures were brought to Earth with malicious intent by alleged terrorist Justin Sage. He is 5′8″, approximately 140 pounds. Black hair and brown eyes. If you have any information on the whereabouts of this person of interest, please visit your local police station.”
“What the literal fuck!” Missy exclaimed. “I don’t…I don’t. What is happening?”
Missy pulled her legs into her chest and wrapped her arms around them, sobbing. The television continued to play in the background, but she chose to ignore it. She couldn’t handle hearing any more news; it only solidified the large possibility that Don was never coming back. “Why is this happening in our lifetime?” she cried. “Why does bad stuff always happen to me? Those things don’t even look like aliens…like how could they even be intelligent? They’re just small balls. I don’t get it.”
Mary hugged Missy. “You know we will fight back. There has to be a plan. Sending those people away makes sense—they need to be kept safe so they can keep running our country. Don’t give up now.”
Missy’s eyes widened, and she stiffened as she looked toward the stairs. Slowly, she pointed to the guest room. “Lois could be an alien.”
Mary grabbed her friend’s hand and slowly lowered it. “You know how the news is hype. Lois is fine. And if Lois were an alien, wouldn’t she have had her alien overlords probe us already like that alien activist said?”
The television continued to play in the background, and Missy covered her ears and placed her head between her knees.
“Listen,” Mary said while turning the TV off. “The news said that the aliens were hostile. It didn’t say they killed anyone. Now, wouldn’t you think that would be the first thing they broadcast?”
Missy looked up, her eyes red and wet. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re right. Don should be back tomorrow. The woman…she said he would be back in three days max. So tomorrow.”
“That works out, then,” Mary said. “I’ll go to the school, and you can be home for when Don returns.”
“Yeah,” Missy said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be waiting for him.”
– 22 –
Balloons
Day 5
Missy’s neighborhood was eerily silent. Mary could hear gunshots far in the distance, one at a time. Each bang rattled her, but she convinced herself to focus. She pulled the straps on her backpack so that it fit snugly against her back in case she needed to run. The next-day soreness of her thighs began to burn as she took her first steps from the driveway.
“It’s all mental,” she told herself as she pushed forward along the curving neighborhood roads toward the front gate. Each house that she passed had drawn curtains and empty driveways. She wondered if they, too, were hunkered down, hiding until a resolution was found.
When she approached the gate, she immediately forgot the keycode to the pedestrian walkway. 1689…no, 1869, she thought. The gate buzzed in error at each attempt. “Freaking for real,” she muttered as she grasped the thin metal bars with her hands while pushing herself up to the height of the fence. The top bars ended in dull, arrow-like points, forcing her to support her weight on her arms as she flipped herself over the edge and slowly let herself down. She was already sweating as she pulled out the hand-drawn map from Missy. It had four land markers but no street names. The mark of someone who was not accustomed to giving directions. Luckily, she had a general idea of where the school was from the trip the previous night. Returning the map to her back pocket, she set off toward the first marker, a convenience store.
The farther Mary went from the safety of the gated community, the louder it became. She could hear shouting in the distance that ran in unison with the honking of car horns. She picked up her pace, crossing several neighborhood side streets, the convenience store now in sight. There was a line of cars far down the street, waiting in a queue for gas. She could make out a comm
otion at one of the gas pumps, where a man was attempting to fill multiple gas canisters, the people behind him retaliating, cursing, shooting him their middle fingers.
It reminded her of the hurricane that had passed through years prior that left her homebound with nothing to eat or drink but a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a box of cheese crackers. One would think she would have learned her lesson then, but if it had not been for Missy’s boyfriend’s secret supplies, she would be in the same boat.
Mary pushed forward, turning left at the store, keeping an eye out for the grassy field that was somewhere on the left, according to the map. As she passed the next intersection, she was overwhelmed by the sight of people at Piedmont Park. It was chaotic—everyone seemed to have left their homes and gathered, spilling into the streets. Banners flew overhead, firecrackers exploded into the air above. At first glimpse, it appeared to be an alien fan party. Crowds gathered in various circles, some excited to see alien life in their lifetime, some welcoming the aliens, offering peace, others with weapons drawn ready to fight. Then there was the gunfire.
An old, rough-looking man stood in the bed of a beat-up pickup truck, yelling to a crowd of onlookers. “NROS!” he would shout, followed by his small crowd repeating after him. “NROS will make this right!” Then he fired his pistol into the air. “NROS is for the people!” Another bang, followed by the cheers of his followers. Mary didn’t understand what he was saying, but at the same time, she did not care. She wrote him off as another loony who’d dragged himself into town, ready to take advantage of a city in chaos.
The smell of burning wood engulfed her as she passed the park toward the small shops on Eldridge. Once a serene area for light shopping and brunch, it was now filled with hundreds of people running around looting. Some looters had shopping carts filled to the brim with clothes, electronics, and household goods. A few of the stores erupted in flames, causing people to scatter and disperse, then quickly reassemble.
Mary’s stomach turned as she saw her fellow Houstonians destroying the city. A city in flames—the remnants of L8. The destruction made her realize how ignorant people could be. Instead of bonding and uniting, they wanted to tear down and murder. They were weak inside, an empty void waiting to be filled with whatever the world would pour into them—wine or poison. The outcome was the same: terror, dominance, and insanity.
A Mustang rushed by and slammed on its brakes, quickly succeeded by two quick car honks, forcing her to lose her train of thought. “Hey, girl,” a hipster called from the passenger seat of the car. “Want to party out the end days with us?”
Mary continued walking, having no intent of becoming a victim. The state of the city was too much for her—she wanted to run back to the house, where it was safe and familiar. “No, I’m good. Just looking for some food.”
The car continued to drive alongside her, pushing her on the edge of panic. “We’ve got food. We’ve got beer. We’ve got party favors.”
Mary continued walking, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. My husband is waiting for me up ahead.”
The man, who at a better glance appeared drunk, hung out of the window and threw an empty soda bottle at her, barely missing her backpack. “Stuck-up bitch!” he yelled before his driver sped away, nearly hitting a pedestrian releasing brown balloons into the air. He seemed unfazed and unaware.
“These are my peace offerings,” the pedestrian said, a wide smile on his face.
“Neat,” Mary replied, returning her gaze to the road ahead, refusing to make eye contact. She spotted the grassy field ahead and picked up her pace even more. When she turned down the field, her fast walk turned into a jog and then a run along the muddy tire tracks back to the school. The streets clearly weren’t safe.
*
Greenwood Elementary sat empty, the crowd of civilians long since dispersed. Mary hid behind a large oak in the field and surveyed the school, looking for any signs of life, hoping the intruders were no longer there. She found the barricades disrupted, pushed aside, no longer forming perfect circles. Burned trucks and cars sat still, covered in gray ash and torch marks. Hesitantly, she moved forward, passing the shattered front doors toward the playground. There were shell casings scattered about. She shook her head. No way was she was going in that way. She made her way to the hole in the fence near the blacktop, where she crawled through.
Sensing no one around, she ran toward Missy’s classroom, the window still open, as they’d left it. She made her way through, slowly entering one leg at a time, and crouched in an attempt to hear any motion in the school. After several minutes of silence passed, she was certain that the place was cleared. She made her way to the pile of pillows but found it disturbed. Ariel was not there. She stood still for a moment, unsure of what to make of Ariel’s absence. “Please be okay,” she whispered. “Come on, universe, just give me this one.”
Missy’s backpack sat in the middle of the room, her cellphone by its side. Mary stuffed the cellphone in the front pocket of the bag and zipped it up. Although communications were down, she thought it would cheer Missy up to have it. Don was expected to return from space today, and if by any chance the lines started working, there was the possibility that he could get in touch with her if he couldn’t make it home. It was slim, but it was something. She strapped on the bag and exited the classroom.
She made her way toward the gymnasium, curious to see how it had been left. Her heart thumped in her chest, and the fear of what she might find created a deep angst inside of her. She nearly drifted to the gym, omitting all of her surroundings. There were numerous trails of bloody footprints that increased in consistency and thickness toward the sick ward. She found the blue doors torn open, pieces of rubble and metal covering the floor.
Oh my God, they forced their way in, she thought as regret for abandoning her group set in. Pieces of partially dried human tissue lined the outside of the gym, and she knew immediately that there’d been an explosion.
As she stepped inside, she found the room empty of people but scattered with personal belongings, bullet casings, and pools of blood that had been trodden through numerous times, the source of the trail in the hall. Barricades of tables and beds were scattered about haphazardly. Finding no signs of life, she turned to leave, but her exit was interrupted by a small whimper behind one of the upright cots. She ran forward, forgetting to soft step, and found Moose in his pink kennel, alone and afraid, under piles of abandoned luggage.
“You poor thing,” she whispered, sticking her finger through the cloth opening so that he could smell it. As Moose sniffed her hand, she realized something had to have happened to Ms. Brackenridge. She would never abandon her dog; he was the only friend she had. Or at least, that Mary thought she had. She’s dead. Oh my God, Ms. B is dead, she thought, panic rising in her again. Stop. Stop that thought. Get it together. Mary swallowed the lump in her throat, put the strap of the carrier over her shoulder, and left the battlefield as she tried to push all of the dark thoughts from her mind. The visions were consuming her, all of the different scenarios playing out in her head: Ms. Brackenridge dead, Chris dead, the kids dead. “But where are the bodies?” she whispered to herself.
A stench filled the air as if in answer, reminding her of the time she’d found a dead rat in the walls of her townhome. The smell was overwhelming, giving her the start of a headache. She pulled her T-shirt over her nose to help block the smell, but it continued to seep through. Rancid, putrid fumes. The horrendous smell took her to the second-grade hallway, specifically room 2D.
Mary cupped her hands around her face and stared into the small window on the door, trying to make out the contents of the dark room. The outside light barely shone through the drawn blinds, but she could make out a figure lying distorted on the floor. A plump figure with outstretched arms, as if someone dragged her there and just dropped her corpse with no regard. She continued to stare and made out the small flowers on her pink dress, confirming it was Mrs
. James. Without a thought, she opened the door. Rays of light filled the room, lighting up a pile of dead bodies, all thrown sloppily on top of one another like a pile of rubbish. The smell of the room poured out, engulfing Mary and Moose.
Mary quickly shut the door and held her hand to her mouth, trying to refrain from vomiting while Moose began to whimper. As she tapped the bag, trying to get him to settle down, she tried to calculate the number of bodies in the room. She counted twenty or thirty. She was not sure, but she was sure of the fact that it wasn’t everyone in the school the day before.
Gathering all of her strength, she opened the door again and stepped in, her hand firmly holding her shirt over her nose and mouth, and walked around the bodies in an attempt to identify them. She didn’t see Ms. B, Sherrie, or Chris, so that gave her hope that they’d been rescued. She slowly exited the makeshift gravesite and peeked into the next room. The curtains were drawn, but she could tell there were more bodies. After debating whether to check the room or not, she decided to keep hope that her companions were still alive and headed for the cafeteria.
Although the lunchroom was off-limits when they were housed in the school, it was littered, as if people had been squatting there. There were empty MRE containers on the tables and floors, napkins and cups on the tables, along with some of the blankets she and Missy had found before they left. Mary walked to one of the tables that was completely cleared off except for a folded piece of paper in the center. As she picked it up, she recognized the chart that Dr. Dressner had been filling out with the children’s vitals.
The name Missy was written across the sheet in bold black ink. Mary unfolded the letter and read it. Those who survived the attack at the school were moved to Kinsley Hospital. “Everything is as it was,” she whispered, still looking at the letter. Chris was alive and wanted her to go to the makeshift operating room. Mary folded the letter, placed it in the back pocket of her jeans, and left, heading toward room 3C.
