Dust to Dust: An Apocalyptic Thriller

by Bridget Bundy

  It seems like we’re immune as we continue north. The sky is clear in that direction, not a cloud in all the blue. Yet in our tiny bubble, we are constantly reminded that the danger is only seconds away, and we may not see the aliens before they attack.

  Spotting something I wasn’t expecting to see, I stop right in my tracks. I can’t believe our luck.

  “Michael!”

  He turns around, and I point in the direction of a house.

  “What?” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Bicycles.”

  Michael’s eyes light up. The bicycles lean against a porch. I’m about to take off, but Michael grabs my wrist, pulling me back to the road and behind a stalled car.

  “Let’s go get them,” I remark. I’m antsy. I’m ready.

  “We’re not approaching the house from the front. Someone could be inside. Go over there to the edge of the woods and wait for me.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to check around the house first, and then I’m going inside.”

  “Why would you go into the house?”

  “Kris, we have to be careful. Trust me. Now, go wait over there, and hurry up.”

  With some hesitation, I run over to where the yard ends at the woods. I stand on the edge, watching Michael as he jogs to the house. He keeps a low profile. His gun is out and aimed in front. He reaches the right corner of the house and moves to the porch. Peeking around the frame of the open window next to the front door, Michael scans the room. He tries the doorknob. I hold my breath. I can’t believe he’s going into that house. The knob clicks. He goes in, disappearing entirely from my sight.

  I fidget in one spot. I can’t stand not knowing what Michael is doing. Could he be talking to someone? Seconds turn into millennia, and I want to run into that house to see what’s taking him so long.

  Suddenly, I hear buzzing. It’s the same sound from last night. I look back into the woods. I see the usual. Then something flies by my head. It lands on the tree right next to me. It’s dark, a stark contrast against the bumpy trunk of the pine. It’s a cicada, but why does it look mechanical? Then I realize, every single tree trunk has a cicada. The buzzing is their singing, and it synchronizes with the pulsing red glow from their bodies.

  But it’s more than apparent these cicadas are not natural to Earth. They are alien created.

  I back out of the woods, taking each step carefully. I know if I scream, they’ll swarm and attack. I swallow that need to let out my terror, and I keep backing up. As soon as I’m clear of the woods, I take off running for the house, hauling tail as fast as I can. I reach the porch and burst through the front door.

  Michael is nowhere to be found in the living room. I make my way to the kitchen. He’s not there either. I run down the hallway. The first room I reach, I see him. His hands are up for some odd reason. His nose is bloody. His bottom lip is cracked and bleeds. Not understanding, I push the door open, startling a man with a shotgun, who swings the barrel in my direction. Michael dives at him before he can aim. Both of them slam into the wall and land hard on the floor. The shotgun doesn’t go off, but it falls out of the man’s hands. Michael gets the upper hand, straddles the stunned man, and throws punch after punch. The guy tries to protect his face, but it does no good. My brother, filled with anger, won’t let up.

  In utter shock, I can only watch. Trying to stop Michael would be useless. When he’s angry beyond the point of calm, it’s best to give him space.

  The beating stops only when Michael wears himself out. He grabs the shotgun and stands up, breathing hard and exhausted.

  “Go outside, Kris.”

  I want to say something, but I leave instead, going to the living room. That’s as far as I go.

  “Outside!” he yells from the bedroom.

  How does he know where I am? Damn it. I’m too scared to go outside. What if the cicadas come after me? I better do as Michael says.

  The moment I step onto the porch, a gun fires from inside the house. I have no doubts that my brother just killed that man. I look into the living room, staring at the old furniture and the pictures on the far wall.

  Michael finally comes out, and he has the shotgun. Without saying a word, he hands it to me. I don’t want to take it, but I won’t refuse. He’s not in the mood for my smart remarks or questions. I sling the weapon over my body. He holsters his pistol and stomps over to the bicycles.

  “Michael,” I call to him nervously. I don’t want him to go off on me, but he has to know what I found. “I got something to tell you.”

  “Kris, let’s just go. Grab the bike and let’s go.”

  “There are cicadas in the woods.” It came out wrong. I try it again. “What I mean is that there’s something in the woods the aliens created.”

  “What?” he asks, confused.

  “Listen. It’s the same buzzing from last night. Do you hear it?”

  The noise pings his interest.

  “They look like cicadas. They’re all in the woods.”

  “Stay here.”

  Michael takes long strides to the woods. He doesn’t go in, but he sees what I’m talking about. The red lights glow brighter now that he's close, and from where I am, half a football field away, the singing is louder. Michael goes to the nearest tree and puts his finger on a bug. I cringe at the sight, shutter at his stupidity. Then he does the worse thing ever. He plucks it off the tree. The cicada flutters wildly in his grasp. He lets it go. The thing flies right back to the tree.

  With his curiosity satisfied, Michael comes back. He’s worried but calm.

  “They are alien,” he reveals. “They’re like…how do I describe it…like little robots.”

  “Why did you touch it?”

  “Because I had to know what it was.”

  “It’s not safe to be outside anymore.”

  “It hasn’t been safe since the aliens got here.”

  “We can’t be outside. Those things could attack us. I’m scared, Michael. I am so scared.”

  “If we stay here, the people that live here might show up. We don’t want to be here when they do. We have no choice, Kris, but to keep going.”

  Unfortunately, since Michael took that man’s life, his family coming back and finding him is a real possibility. It could mean our deaths at the hands of humankind rather than the alien-kind.

  I grab the second bicycle. Michael picks up the other off the ground. We roll them to the road and push off. The cicadas are no longer singing, but I do see some from the road. Their spidery wings flicker. Their bug bodies glow red. At least, they don’t follow us, but there could be more of them. So many more, and that scares me.

  C H A P T E R

  20

  Fredericksburg, Virginia

  Fredericksburg is different from what I remember. I’ve stopped in this area during my travels to and from Washington DC in the past, dining and shopping to my heart’s content in several of the major commercial establishments. Now, instead of commerce booming with life, the mecca of instant wants and needs have vanished. Buildings turned into mounds of dirt and chunky cement leftovers, even the glass can’t be discerned. The wind blows the smaller particles. A dust devil twists its way across an empty parking lot to our left. From a fire hydrant, high volumes of water shoot into the road, rushing to a nearby drain.

  Michael and I are stunned to silence at the drastically changed scene around us. I cycle faster. Taking in our surroundings is murdering my thin slice of hope.

  “I can’t believe it,” he says. “There’s nothing left.”

  That comment doesn’t need any confirmation from me. I wish I was somewhere I don’t have to be a witness to the decimation. Lives were taken here. I wipe the tears that have escaped my eyes. My heart beats hard in my chest. If this is what the aliens are doing, turning everything and everyone in their sights to dust, then Michael is right. They are out to annihilate the human race. We are a pestilence on the green earth, and this is how they
eradicate the problem. I try to focus on the road ahead. It’ll be hard to disassociate from the gloom and doom, but I’ve been known to block annoying coworkers. It shouldn’t be too hard. Who am I kidding? I’m drowning in destruction. I won’t be able to get away from it.

  We pass a sign that lets us know we’re approaching the junction of Highway One and Interstate 95. An idea pops into my head.

  “We should take the interstate,” I suggest to Michael. “The aliens are focusing on the local areas. The interstate doesn’t have homes or businesses. It’s a straight shot and probably quicker.”

  “Ninety-five won’t take you to Ashburn.”

  “Highway One won’t either.”

  “You saw what happened down in Richmond with the interstate bridge. Seeds blew it up and everyone on it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll never forget that.”

  “Taking the interstate will make the trip longer, and we don’t know if it’s passable. If we find a bridge blown out, we’d have to go back to the closest exit. The goal is to keep moving forward.”

  “But you won’t see the destruction the aliens have caused.”

  “Tell you what. If you’re willing to forget about going to Ashburn, we can ride ninety-five.”

  “I’m not leaving Gabe.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “What?” I ask with disbelief.

  “You heard what I said. Your boyfriend is dead.”

  “How would you know?”

  “We’ve been going since the early part of this afternoon.”

  “So?”

  “We’ve seen only one living person so far.”

  Yeah, and you killed him, I say to myself.

  “Not that many people survived the attacks, Kris.”

  “How do you equate other dead people to Gabe?”

  “It’s not hard to deduce.”

  “You’re guessing,” I point out. “We’ve made it. I’m sure a lot of other people have too, and Gabe has definitely survived this.”

  “We’ve been lucky.”

  “You just don’t want to go to Ashburn.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “And you’ll say any heartless thing to make me change my mind.”

  “Me telling you that your boyfriend is dead is not heartless. It’s the plain truth, and you might as well get used to the idea.”

  I stop under the bridge. Michael cycles a little farther before coming to a halt.

  “I want you to apologize to me,” I demand.

  “What for?”

  “Being an asshole.”

  “Are you seriously going to carry the millennial age of sensitivity into the apocalypse?”

  “Are you going to carry that old man shit attitude into the apocalypse?”

  “Not going to apologize, Sis.”

  “I’m not some flunky girlfriend you can manipulate. I’m your sister, and I deserve an apology.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. Okay? I’m not. I only want you to understand that reality is what it is, no matter if you accept it or not. Gabe is dead. He didn’t survive the alien attacks.”

  “Your certainty is proof of your ignorance and arrogance. You have no clue if he’s alive or dead.”

  “Sis, I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “Fine, but I’m getting on the interstate, and I don’t give a shit what you say.”

  “And if I don’t get on there with you?”

  “Then I’ll go by myself.”

  Michael laughs, the same obnoxious chuckle I’d hear when I was in trouble as a kid. Such a bastard. To this day, I don’t know how I manage to live with him for so long.

  “What if a Seed comes after you? Better yet, what if the Cicadas swarm you?”

  “Like you can protect me.”

  “I can.”

  “A rocket was fired at a Seed, Michael. What was the result?”

  “Alright, Kris, you made your point. You win. We’ll take the interstate.”

  What the hell? Why did he give up so quickly? Michael must have something else in mind. Or I could be paranoid, and he realizes that we have less of a chance of running into people.

  “We are going for Gabe. Don’t play games with me on this, Michael.”

  “I hear you loud and clear.”

  “And you still owe me an apology.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  C H A P T E R

  21

  Springfield, Virginia

  Exit 166 on Interstate 95 is where we camp out. The highway is empty for the most part. Shocking, seeing how northbound can be a parking lot at any given time of the day, but with the very early arrival of the spaceships yesterday, commuters must have decided to stay home.

  I take this downtime to sketch and to soak in our surroundings. Lattice towers where power lines are attached loom on the other side of the highway. The land beyond has subtle hills covered with a carpet of trees. We’re in an area that’s considered mostly the suburbs of Washington DC. Millions of commuters get on Interstate 95 in the morning, sit in horrible traffic for an hour and a half or more. At the end of the day, the migration changes to south. What is easily a half hour drive to Springfield, Virginia, and surrounding towns from the nation’s capital can quickly turn into two hours. Accidents, construction, sheer volume of cars, bad weather, it’s all part of the driving experience in Northern Virginia. It’s self-torture for those who endure it daily.

  Before the last of the sunlight fades, I finish two drawings. The sketches need to be refined and labeled, but I’ll have to do it some other time. It’s getting harder to see. I put my supplies away and listen to the distant sounds. There are a lot more rumblings, and I hear faint screams and crying. Michael hears them too. I wrap my arms around my body, shiver from the pain people must be enduring. Michael is more anxious. He paces out from under the bridge, looking up and around at the sky.

  “One of us have to stay awake,” he says. “Be on the lookout.”

  “I’ll do it. I’m not sleepy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll take turns. Wake me up around two in the morning, and I’ll take over.”

  “How am I going to do that? I don’t have a watch, and our phones aren’t working.”

  “Oh,” Michael replies. “Okay, then when you get tired, wake me up.”

  “Sounds good,” I remark.

  He lays back on the grass next to the bridge support wall and takes out a bottle of beer from his backpack.

  “Want one?” He points at his bag.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “From the store where you got your notebooks.”

  “Sure,” I remark.

  Michael holds his beer in between his legs and grabs another from the bag. He pops open the top, hands it to me. The alcohol is warm and nasty, not exactly thirst quenching either, but it’s different from the water I’ve been drinking.

  “You still mad at me?” Michael asks.

  “It’s not worth the effort. You’re not going to change.”

  “I’m only looking out for us. Everything I do; that’s what I keep in mind.”

  I want to bring up that he killed that man for no reason. He beat him to a pulp. The poor guy wouldn’t have bounced back for another round, but I decide to let the thought hang out in my brain. My brother is capable of horrible things, and his kindness to me has always had the potential to tip in a dangerous direction.

  “Kris, there’s something I have to tell you.” He takes a long gulp of beer.

  Not a good sign. It has to be bad news.

  “I saw AWOL.”

  “You mean Goodie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where was he? Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I saw him right before we got to Fredericksburg. He’s the reason why I stopped for a bathroom break.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Wait, we stopped at a wooded area for you to use the bathroom. There were no houses ove
r there.”

  “He was on the side of the road. He was dust, Kris.”

  There he goes again. Acting like he knows someone is dead but have no proof of it.

  “If that’s all you saw was dust, then you can’t be sure it was him.”

  “I saw his socks and shoes.”

  “Michael, go to sleep.”

  “Kris, when we went into the men store in Glen Allen, AWOL took a pair of socks. They had pink golf clubs on them, and he grabbed a new pair of bright green tennis shoes.”

  I remember them. Oh no, Goodie is dead. That’s horrible news.

  “I saw those same socks and those same green tennis shoes in the grass, near the woods,” Michael continues. “I also saw his clothes. No doubt about it. That was him.”

  Absolutely stunned, I think back to that point in time. I didn’t see a thing. I remember being scared that there could be Cicadas in the woods, and they would attack Michael. Nothing happened of course, and I didn’t see any of the alien bugs. But how did I miss Goodie?

  “He could have changed shoes.” I don’t even believe what I just said.

  Michael doesn’t agree nor disagree, but it’s more than apparent what the truth is. Losing my thirst, I hand Michael my beer.

  “I think it’s the Cicadas,” Michael says.

  “That’s turning people to dust?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said this morning you thought it was the Seeds. The aliens turned a switch and only targeted human bodies.”

  “I had time to think on that theory. I believe I was wrong.”

  “Okay. What do you think happened now?”

  “I think the Cicadas broke the windows as they flew through them, and they bit into those people in the church. I think the Cicadas injected them with venom that changed them into dust.”

  “What do you think happened to us last night?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “We could have been bit too, but something about us, possibly in our DNA, made us immune to the effects of the bite. The guy back at the house where we got the bicycles. He had black bruising on his arm, and his blood veins were dark from the infected area. The windows in his house were broken, and there were remains on the other side of the sofa in the living room.”