“I can tell you why. You enjoy conspiracy theories and far-fetched stories. The only trouble is you’re not in ‘The X-Files,’ dear,” I say, shocked I’m even having this conversation.
We’ve talked at length about religion and agree on all of it. Or so I thought.
So many people are enamored by the scriptures of their gods or goddesses, but they can’t see those stories for what they are.
Stories.
Allegory to help us make it through the tough times or give us guidance on how to be better versions of ourselves. But they’re not real. If I said I believed there were actually sirens and Medusa, you’d know I was flagging you to say I’ve been kidnapped or something.
“Well, sure, who doesn’t like a good conspiracy theory? But—I dunno, it’s not that,” he whispers before chewing on his lower lip. “I feel like there’s been a significant shift somehow. Can’t you feel it?”
“Of course there’s been a significant shift. Thousands of people have disappeared overnight. But that’s not supernatural. There has to be a logical explanation.”
“So you’re not even the slightest bit concerned we’re on the brink of annihilation?” Braham asks, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
“People have been claiming the end was near since the beginning of time, Braham. It’s human nature for people to make something up to give their fears a name,” I say, adjusting my skirt and crossing my legs. “Whatever is going on with the grids—the disappearances—it’s all us. That’s what I feel. Someone, somewhere, is pulling the strings. And they’re human.”
“Mmmm,” he says, nodding absently.
A sudden explosion rocks our car backward, slamming the tiny Prius into the guardrail of the freeway. Instantly, horns blare and fellow travelers emerge from their vehicles around us.
“What in the—” Braham says, putting the car in park and reaching for his seat belt. He jiggles his door handle with no results. The impact must have crumpled the mechanism.
“Did you see what happened?” I say, craning around in my seat to get a better look.
“No, I wasn’t paying enough attention. What can you see, Cass? Can you hop out and take a look? Has anyone been hurt?” he says, diving straight into his “fixer” mode.
“You’re not that kind of doctor, Braham. You impregnate women for a living,” I say, lowering my eyebrows.
“Yes, but I still went through med school and know my way around blood, which is more than I can say for most people. Check, please,” he pleads.
“How can I say no to those eyes?” I say, nodding. I reach for my own handle and thrust the door open.
Before I can hop out, tires screech, and a biker comes to a burnt halt beside me. The front tire grazes my open door with a barely audible thump. In the two-second silence that follows, my door wobbles back and forth quietly.
“Are you fucking insane? Don’t you know how to look before you open your damn car door?” the woman yells, getting off her motorcycle and flinging her helmet to the ground. Cropped, curly blond hair flies wildly around her face, and her ice-blue eyes flash angrily.
My face flushes, and I feel the weight of eyes on me as other drivers and passengers turn to look in our direction.
“I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be moving so fast. We’ve been in a deadlock for…There was an explosion. I was trying to get out to see what was going on,” I say in an attempt to justify myself.
I step out of the vehicle, squaring up with her in the hopes of getting on a common footing.
“No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I was making my way forward in this mess?” she spits, rolling her eyes. “You’re damn lucky I noticed your door opening in time or you’d be scraping me up off the pavement over there.”
Her long, thin arm extends as she points to the asphalt ahead.
I shudder the thought away.
“I’m really sorry,” I begin. “You’re right—”
“Hey, I asked her to check to see if anyone needed help. If you’re gonna be pissed at anyone, you can be pissed at me,” Braham says, climbing over the middle console and emerging from the vehicle.
The woman rolls her eyes—a scary effect because it makes her look possessed.
“Pretty sure your woman here can manage for herself. Unless you grabbed her hand and opened the door for her, it was her own idiocy that nearly killed me, and hers alone,” the biker chick laments. “Now, if you could just get back in your vehicle, I’d like to be on my way.”
“We’re coming with you,” Braham says, standing shoulder to shoulder with me.
I reach out for the edge of my car door, throwing her a glance as I wait for the stranger to mount up and reverse her bike.
“It’s a free world, so far as I’m aware. Do what you want, but you’re not coming with me,” she says, grabbing her helmet and walking her bike far enough back for the door to close.
As soon as I slam the door shut, the woman kicks her bike into gear and continues on her journey—though distinctly more cautiously.
“C’mon, Cass. Let’s check things out,” Braham says, reaching for my hand.
Butterflies of anxiety erupt from my midsection. I don’t know that I overly want to see people hurt—or worse, dead. And I can tell you, based on the amount of force from the explosion, someone died. If I go along with him, I’ll probably end up freaking out or throwing up. Quite possibly both.
“Should we leave the car behind like this? I mean, what if things start moving?” I ask hesitantly.
“Cass, we’ve been sitting here for hours. I highly doubt after an explosion like that, anyone will be going anywhere,” Braham says, making a face. When he sees my expression, his features softens, “But if you’d feel better staying with the vehicle, then stay. I won’t be gone long, sweetie. Just wanna see if anyone’s hurt.”
I nod, relief flooding my veins. “Okay, yeah. I think that’s a better plan. I just don’t—”
“I know, Cass. This isn’t your thing. Stay here. It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing my cheek with his thumb. “I won’t be gone long.
Braham opens the car door for me, waiting until I take my seat before closing it again. With the palm of his hand, he taps the roof of the car—a quick, wordless, “Be right back.”
It’s just like him, always needing to be of service to others, even if it means sometimes leaving those closest to him behind. It’s a noble condition, but it’s not the easiest when you’re the one left behind.
He walks between the cars and trucks all packed in like sardines on the freeway. My insides recoil, and I know I won’t be able to relax fully until he’s come back. It’s been weeks since the first mass disappearances occurred and to this day, no one knows what’s really happening. The second round of disappearances took place six days from the first. It’s occuring all over the globe, which makes it hard to pinpoint the mastermind.
Which makes me extremely skittish to leave his side.
When Braham is just about out of my line of sight, another man exits his truck, joining him. Even though they’re almost specks in the distance, it’s easy to spot them because the other man’s dark skin is in clear contrast with the cream-colored turtleneck he’s wearing.
It’s been over ninety degrees anywhere within a two-hundred-mile vicinity for the past two weeks.
Where on earth is he heading in that kind of attire?
I roll down my window, sticking my arm out to let the stagnant-fresh air at least tickle my arm as it flees this godforsaken place. Almost everyone has shut their vehicles off—a blessing in this sea of concrete and metal.
My mind drifts to where we’re heading. We still have a ways to go, but the Canadian border has offered the best solace. While it might be colder in the winter, the population is less dense. Perfect for us now that we’re…
Again, I run my hand across my abdomen.
Braham doesn’t even know yet, and I can’t wait to surprise him when we reach his family’s cabin up north. We were
there once for our anniversary, and it’s the perfect location to let him know all of his hard work has paid off. After years of trying, we’re finally going to have a baby.
The plan is all set. We’ll get situated at the cabin first. Open the windows to let all the fresh air inside…
What I wouldn’t give to be lakeside right now. I have never felt or inhaled air cleaner than up north.
Looking around, I’m surprised most have decided to stay behind the way I have rather than walk ahead to see what happened.
Then again, if they’re anything like me, I know why. I just can’t deal with death. The finality of it has always put me on edge. Especially since my brother died.
Resting back in my seat, I lick my lower lip. Things haven’t always been easy for Braham and me, but I am so happy we’re in this together. We have so many good times ahead.
Glancing down again at my stomach, I sigh. I have to find a way to tell him. Soon.
We’ve been married for eight years, and even though he specializes in helping other women get pregnant, we’ve struggled to conceive. It’s not for lack of trying—or lack of tenacity. He’s worked hard, trying to create the right conditions for us. It’s just taken some time.
But it will be so worth it in the end.
Shifting in my seat, I turn the ignition key so I can listen to the radio and take my mind off my own inner drama for a few minutes. I flip past our ordinary NPR station and go straight to the local soft rock radio station instead.
Music floods into the vehicle, whisking my thoughts away temporarily. The songs should really be on the oldies station, but they’re still goodies, so whatever. I’ll forgive the DJs this time.
I close my eyes and wait. I’ve gotten good at it over the years.
Braham has a tendency to throw himself into work, and when that happens, not much else takes precedence. On the upside, he’s good at checking in so I know what’s taking so long and when I can expect him. Even if there are more delays.
Leaning my head against the window frame, I listen to the music and cling to what little breeze is pushed in my direction. Resting my arm out the window, I gently tap out the tune against the frame. Before long, my eyelids feel heavy, and I let them fall shut in the hopes it will make time pass faster.
I drift into an uneasy, way-too-warm sleep that makes my head feel thick and my temples thump in the intermittent bursts of wakefulness. Images of bottles, diapers, cribs, and cuddles weave in and out of my consciousness. At first, it’s all happy, peaceful dreams, but somewhere along the line they contort into something else—flames, crying, and darkness.
Lots and lots of darkness.
My eyes pop open, and I’m surprised to see the sun is hidden behind the trees on its voyage to setting. Deep purples, pinks, and hazy hues of blue mark the twilight hour. It’s a beautiful sight, and it helps ease some of the anxiety built by my dreaming.
But the longer I sit, worry sends out its tendrils, playing around in my brain and urging me to sit up. To check things out.
The music that once flooded the car has ceased, and I reach for the key to turn on the vehicle and recharge the battery. Unfortunately, the motion only produces a strange clicking noise.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath as I look around at the sea of other people still resting in their vehicles.
That was stupid. Now we’re gonna need a jump.
I flip the key to the off position and pull it from the steering wheel.
Leaning out the window, I glance down the aisle of vehicles toward where the commotion originated. No movement at all meets my gaze, and my pulse quickens.
Why hasn’t Braham checked in with me? If something has happened to him…
My insides take a leap into my chest, and I have the sudden urge to go hunting for him.
Flitting my eyes back to the spot where I last saw my husband, I bite my lip. Surely it shouldn’t take this long. How long has he been gone?
Pulling my cell phone from its holder on the dash, my jaw slacks open.
Three hours and forty-two minutes.
Inhaling sharply, I reach for my door handle.
There’s no way he’d stay away that long without checking back in. He would have called, at the very least.
Something isn’t right.
2
Braham
Making my way through the packed freeway, I keep my eyes trained on where I believe the explosion occurred. Vehicles are cattywampus, and I can barely make out the biker chick as she climbs off her ride.
“You gonna go see what’s happened?” a man asks, climbing out of his black Yukon. His dark skin glistens in the sunlight, standing out like some sort of sweaty Rorschach test beneath the white turtleneck he’s wearing.
“Yeah, I can’t just sit in the vehicle. I need to know what’s going on,” I say, tipping my head toward the front of the line.
“Me too. Mind if I join you?” he asks.
“Not at all. Still a free world, so far as I’m aware,” I say with a shrug.
“Thanks. Name’s Mike,” he says, thrusting his hand out.
I glance down, taking his offering. “Braham.”
“That’s an odd name. Short for anything?” Mike asks.
“Abraham,” I say, leaving it at that. I’ve always hated my name, but the shortened version suits me. I have Cass to thank for that. She was the first one to ever shorten my name that way—it’s always been Abe.
Well, before I told people never to call me Abe.
Mike and I walk the road in silence. No one else even throws a look our direction, the farther along we go. Those who may have exited right away have found their way back to the safety of their vehicles, the same way Cassidy did. Maybe they can’t deal—or can’t stand the sight of blood. Others just want to hide their heads in the sand and pretend whatever happened…didn’t. Whatever their reason, the results are the same.
Out a few yards in front of us, the biker woman stands, hands on hips, as her blond hair flaps in the breeze.
“Did you figure out…” I begin as we reach her, but my words get caught in my throat.
In the middle of the freeway, a massive crater the size of a high school football field glows in embers.
“What in Hades did this?” Mike asks, his mouth agape.
The woman shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been pondering the same thing and coming up with squat.”
“Could a meteor or something have struck?” I ask, thinking aloud.
The blond woman twists around, placing her piercing blue gaze squarely on me, making me shudder. It’s as though her eyes can see right through me, judging me on a level I didn’t even know I should be penitent for.
“I don’t believe so. There’s plenty of metal and structure here. See?” she says, pointing.
I narrow my eyes, letting them flit over the scene with a tad more scrutiny.
“Oh, guys, she’s right. Look over there,” Mike says, pointing to the mangled mess of solar array panels.
“What is it?” the woman asks, looking out into the mess and shielding her eyes with her hand.
Mike licks his lower lip and runs both hands over the top of his head. “I think… Shit, if I’m right, that’s the International Space Station.”
“What?” Both the woman and I say in unison, turning our wide eyes back to the mangled mess.
“He’s right,” she says, taking a step back and covering her mouth.
“What would have caused this?” I mutter, unable to take my eyes off the scene.
“Nothing good,” Mike offers.
“Do we go down there? Doesn’t look like the kinda scene where there’s anyone left to help,” the woman says.
Shaking my head, I take a step back. If we were to climb down into the pit, who knows what could explode. And she’s right—everything is mangled beyond recognition. If anyone was alive down there, I’d be surprised.
“Uh, I’m Mike, by the way,” Mike says, showing no sign of discom
fort as he thrusts his hand out again, this time for the biker chick.
The woman glances down at his ebony fingers, then flicks her gaze back up to his face.
Her blue eyes widened imperceptibly, but she mutters, “Thea.”
Mike tips his head in recognition, his grin widening. He pulls his hand back to throw a wave her direction instead. “Nice to meet ya, Thea.”
She shoots him a sideways glance, but returns her gaze to the glowing embers. “Yeah. Same.”
“So, what brought you here—I mean, other than the explosion in the street?” Mike asks, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.
“She’s a first responder or something,” I offer, making a calculated assumption.
“Oh, so you were looking for people who were hurt?” Mike asks, raising his eyebrows, clearly impressed.
Thea sighs heavily and continues to stare straight ahead into the smoldering abyss.
“If you’re looking for survivors, I wouldn’t bother,” a second woman says, walking up from behind us.
“Oh, look, it’s Morgan,” Mike says happily, waving at her like a schoolkid. “I graduated high school with her.”
The woman walks forward, reaching out to fist-bump Mike. Because of her short stature, she looks as though she’s trying to do a “Heil Hitler” with a closed fist as she raises her arm to meet him.
“Heya Mike,” Morgan says, brushing a strand of dark-auburn hair out of her face. Her green eyes are striking against the various shades of reds flittering through her hair as the wind takes hold of it. “Pretty crazy, right? I watched the whole metallic thing come down like a ball of fire and take out half the interstate. I narrowly survived,” she says, pointing to a green Toyota Corolla a couple of cars over and right on the edge of the precipice.
“Holy shit, that was close,” I spit out, my eyes wide.
Another foot or so and she would have been part of the glowing chasm.
She bobs her head up and down. “Yeah, gotta thank the gods, for sure.”
“Ugh, please,” Thea says, shoving a finger in her mouth and pretending to gag.
Morgan shrugs it off, completely unfazed.
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