Embers

by Daniela Elana

  “Don’t listen to him. That guy is a loon,” Mason said, taking my hand and he yanked me up from my spot. I turned one last time to look at the man who was being obscured by balloons. People crowded around him, suddenly he looked up from under his thick eyebrows and stuck out his tongue. It was a narrow slit-like a lizard, and he forked it at me, mouthing, Azazel is coming. My head spun as I quickly turned away and back to Mason, fighting my growing stomach pain, nearly knocking into a grinning clown juggling.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you something,” he said, leading us to a game booth and buying a round at a dartboard. The woman in charge of the game folded her arms as she watched him hit the target bulls-eye every time.

  “You’ve got some skills,” I said.

  “Your boyfriend didn’t miss the mark once, you must be proud,” the woman said. Heat traveled to my face at her comment as we were not dating. “What prize would you like?”

  “I’ll take the large rabbit,” he said. My brows rose, remembering how my father had gifted me with Mr. Rabbit. He placed the rabbit in my arms, and I gripped it.

  “Thank you for the fun night,” I said. He smiled.

  “You needed it, you shouldn’t stress so much.” He tugged at my cheek. “Let me get a picture of you,” he said, holding up his phone. I put the rabbit up, shielding my face. “Come on, Patricia, let me snap a shot of your gorgeous face!”

  “I’m camera shy, remember?” I said. A flash hit me while I adjusted the rabbit in my arms.

  “Beautiful!”

  “Mason, I’m going to kill you!”

  He placed his arm around me, pulling me close to him so that my head grazed his shoulder. I used the rabbit to put distance between us. Although I enjoyed spending time with Mason as a friend and mentor, all the touching was making me uncomfortable.

  “It was too tempting.”

  We strolled back to his car. As we rode, he glanced at me. My head rested against the window with the rabbit in my arms.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried again?” he said. I didn’t respond. “Was it that freak?”

  “No, no, I’m just tired,” I said. The car pulled up to my apartment complex.

  “Let me walk you to the door.”

  We came to my door, and I turned to him.

  “Thank you, Mason, for the incredible night, I needed it.” I gave him a partial hug since the rabbit was in my other arm. He held me, the scent of his old spice cologne assailed my nostrils. When I pulled away, he was grinning.

  “It was my pleasure and goodnight.” He waved and walked away. When I got inside, I peeked out of the blinds, watching him swish to his car. He threw his fist up in the air and brought it down, pumping it at his side and mouthed “Yes!” to himself.

  I shook my head and closed the curtains and pivoted around, heading for my bedroom and placed the rabbit on my bed. I undressed, preparing for bed stepping into the shower and blow-dried my hair still wrapped in my towel when I heard a knock at my door.

  Mason had been gone for the past half an hour. I slipped into a t-shirt and pajama pants and took a quick peek out my window to see if Mason’s car was nowhere in sight, but no vehicle in the lot resembled his.

  A cluster of black Cadillacs parked in a row stole my attention. I turned and shuffled to the door, checking the peephole, I could only see black dress shoes, and I drew back and opened the door. Two men donning dark sunglasses and dress suits with expressionless sallow faces stood there.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen today?” I said, blinking my eyes.

  “Four UFOs were sighted in the area a month ago,” they said in unison in a flat tone. The skin on their face barely moved when they spoke.

  “Yes, and how is this related to you visiting me?” I touched the tip of my chin with my index finger.

  “The ufos were sited the same week you were visited by a little girl and pooch.”

  “I know nothing about a girl and dog,” I said. Their eyes narrowed.

  “You have a history of encounters with extraterrestrial beings.”

  “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Maricel. Those four UFOs resembled the four horsemen of the apocalypse.” Their words stirred something in me. The first four seals? , no, impossible! “Tell us, where you last saw Azazel?” they said. I grabbed the knob, pulling the door shut in their faces.

  One of the men placed his foot in the door. He and the other man forced their way into the apartment. I recoiled, tripping into the table beside the door, breaking the lamp.

  In the dark, there was the sound of snarling and scratching with the men scampering around the house, knocking furniture over.

  I scrambled, reaching for my phone that had slid away. My hand landed on a solid object. I retrieved it, shining the light to see my visitors. They had forsaken their humanoid appearance for slimy black tentacles sprouting from their back and matching slippery dark gray sin. Their skin was even more leathery than before. When the light hit their bulging red eyes, they released a shrill cry. One of the man’s tentacles jetted out at my feet.

  I rushed to the door, threw it open, and slammed his tentacle in the door. Sprinting down the hall, I didn’t dare look back as I heard the door burst open and the squeal of them pursuing me. I gripped the railing to balance myself as I flew down a flight of steps leading to the exit and just before I reached my car, I collided with a robust body, and I fell on my back.

  My whole body ached as I met the gaze of the same set of dark eyes, belonging to the man who had been stalking me.

  “Rough night?” he said, offering his hand. The calm expression written on his face did little to ease my mood—he looked anything but inviting.

  I stood by myself and turned back to see the men who were chasing me were nowhere in sight.

  “Don’t worry, your visitors are gone,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.” He turned away.

  “Wait!” I said. He circuited around. “Who are you?” I said. A grin crept onto his face.

  “We will know each other well sooner than you think when you’re ready to lend an ear and trust again.” He turned and walked away.

  I took a deep breath and prayed before returning inside.

  After three hours of staying up, my eyelids grew heavy, and I rubbed them, hoping they would remain open, but they were resistant to my will.

  * * *

  The streets were void except for blowing tumbleweed. Each step echoed in the expanses of the desolate land. Disheveled sheets of paper scattered across the street whipped around from the strong gust of wind. Decaying corpses and shards of glass decorated the ground, filling the air with a putrid odor. It wasn’t the only stench that permeated the air as sulfur laced with the noxious dark fumes of burning, overturned vehicles with shattered windshields. Gas leaked from the crash site onto the pavement.

  A military tank rolling downhill from afar grabbed my attention. I ducked behind an overturned city bus while the tank passed, followed by a cattle truck. I peeked out from behind.

  To my dismay, human faces gripping the bars peered out. The life in their eyes was sucked away by the hopelessness hanging in the air. By their mangled hair and besmirched countenances, it looked as if they hadn’t bathed in days.

  I crept behind pieces of fallen buildings as the tank turned into a camp fenced off. My jaw dropped, fleeing in the opposite direction.

  As I sprinted further away from the city into the outskirts of town, I happened upon a militia seated around a fire, burning dollar bills to stay warm. One man amongst them threw a picture of the president into the flames.

  They waved an inverted American flag. The armbands they wore over their camo was of the same upside-down flag. They referred to themselves as modern revolutionaries. Taking a deep breath, in attempts to calm my raging nerves placing my hand on my head, I bolted farther away.

  An army
marching downhill headed toward me—I turned to run the other way, slipping.

  From the other side, more troops marched. I looked up to see diseased zombies on the other side, reaching for me. I cowered in a ball shielding myself from the hands.

  * * *

  The next day when I reached work, I searched for Mason. He entered with his usual smile. A few employees gathered around, chuckling at his jokes. When he saw me, he grinned wider and waved as he made his way over.

  “Mason, there’s something I need to tell you.” My voice trembled as I embraced him. He seemed taken aback by the hug. He held me by the curve of my waist. A few of my male coworkers nudged one another as they watched. “Last night I had this horrible nightmare, the country was in ruins, the money wasn’t worth a cent, and people were in cages!” I panted. One of our coworkers chuckled. I glared at him and turned back to Mason. He patted my back.

  “I believe you,” he said, releasing me as he walked forward. I followed him and blinked at his vague response.

  “What should I do?”

  “Pray and ask God for answers. If you feel Him leading you, then share it at the bible study tonight,” he said and headed for the back room. I sighed as he left me standing there.

  I straightened the books on shelves trying to keep my mind occupied. As I worked, outside the window, I noted the same stranger with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

  Tracing the back of my neck to ease my nerves had little effect as his eyes didn’t move from me while he watched without a smile. I tried to stand my ground and appear unmoved. A female coworker came up behind.

  “Don’t just stand around, there’s some books that need to be put on the shelves,” she said. I turned away from the window. When she left, I glanced back at the window, but the man was gone.

  * * *

  “You’re not still bothered by your dream last night?” Mason said, cruising down the road headed for Bible study.

  “No, everything is fine,” I said.

  “The tone of your voice and the look in your eyes tell a different story…”

  “Mason, watch out!” I rolled back my shoulder, sitting up. The car swerved to the left as the road swallowed the car behind us.

  “Close call, I’ll call 911 and see if they’re okay,” he said, getting out of the car. My skin grew clammy with sweat, my heart fluttering until I blanked out.

  * * *

  The car sped at a speed that seemed at least 100 miles per second. Through the rearview mirror, I glimpsed a familiar face pursuing us. The man’s light eyes met mine.

  “Mason, Speed up!”

  “I can’t go any faster!”

  “Hurry—”

  Mason’s foot slammed the gas pedal, losing control of the vehicle, skidding for the shoulder of the road. The car flipped over, and Mason was thrown over the overpass. Both airbags deployed and I breathed in the car exhaust fumes laced with gas. The horn blared.

  I squirmed unable to move as I could hear footsteps pounding the pavement. My eyes moved upward to the polished dress shoes of a man. A puddle of gas formed beneath me, I gulped as he pulled me out of the car and took my hand. Just as my mouth parted to thank him, my lips quivered at the recognition of Lovell. He grinned at me.

  “Our time has come!”

  * * *

  I screamed. Mason glanced at me as he opened the door to get in.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I think I passed out from shock and had a nightmare.”

  “Are you sure you’re fine?”

  “Yes, how is the person or people in the other car doing?”

  “They’re okay, the police arrived and are helping pull them out of the hole,” he said, starting the car to drive.

  “What was your nightmare about?”

  “Mr. Lovell.”

  “Who?”

  “The Antichrist,” I said. Mason furrowed his brows.

  “I wasn’t expecting the sinkhole.”

  “Me either, it almost seemed apocalyptic.”

  “Or the result of too much fracking,” he said. As much as I loved Mason’s willingness to lend an ear, his hyper-rational need to dispel everything irked me. By the expression on his face, after I screamed, it seemed even he thought I had lost my mind.

  * * *

  I sat with the bible study group at a buffet and listened as they discussed their families and work as they stuffed their faces with food. Mason glanced at me as I picked at my food with my hand tucked under my chin.

  “It’s not a crime to smile,” he said.

  “Neither is it to frown,” I said, shoving a spoon full of peas in my mouth.

  The television blared in the background, playing Ross Day’s America’s Hot Seat. Ross was a national news anchor known for his controversial segments. Ross was in his mid-forties and always wore a black suit that matched his sleek dark gray hair and piercing eyes that looked ready to dissect in and everything in his pathway.

  A segment on his show caught the entire restaurants’ attention as vats of shouting and foul language accompanied images of civil unrest across various large cities, including Dallas. Protests had been occurring for the past few months as people voiced their dissatisfaction with the government shutdown, cuts to benefits meanwhile the cost of living continued skyrocketing while wages remained low, increasing homelessness and food insecurity.

  * * *

  “Major riots have broken out in several major cities across the nation because millions are without food and shelter with cuts to government programs and the economic recession,” Ross said. Gaggles of people on screen raided grocery stores. “Our president’s approval rating is at an all-time low,” Ross Day grinned.

  * * *

  My head snapped from the screen to a few tables over to where a middle-aged couple arose and snatched food from the buffet line.

  “Hey, put the bread down!” a waitress shouted as she tugged the bread from the woman’s hand who tried to stuff several bread rolls into her purse. Her husband came up from behind the waitress, whipping out a pocket knife. He lodged it in the waitress’s chest. She toppled over, gurgling on blood.

  Outside, the burst of gunshots fired into the glass of the restaurant across the street as gaggles of people looted nearby shops and restaurants in the public square. Shrieks and screams filled the air. Some protestors climbed street lights waving bandanas, rioting.

  I got down under the table while more bullets flew inside, hitting some of the people around me. Their bodies hit the carpeted floor with a dud, and their blood pooled into the carpet. I covered my head, quivering as I prayed.

  Employees fled, but hordes of people jumping through the broken windows in search of food and supplies they could salvage.

  A hand lifted me from beneath the table, and I rose to see Mason’s. He instructed us to follow him out of the restaurant to the parking garage

  Miles of gray smoke filled the air from flaming cars. Thieves snatched purses and items from people, exiting nearby shops.

  Police officers in riot gear lined the streets shouting over a megaphone. Some of the rioters threw Molotov cocktails into nearby businesses, filling the once teaming shops with smog and fire.

  A few teenagers wearing black clothing with their faces obscured by dark bandanas beside us launched bricks at the police. The officers shot rubber bullets, casting canisters of tear gas at the mob. They coughed wincing backward.

  I crumpled to the ground when the substance splashed on my skin, stinging it and burning my eyes. Between my scorching pupils and smoked filled lungs, I could hardly make sense of my left or right. Mason helped me up, and we ran.

  A husky man in the streets turned his attention toward us as we entered the parking garage. His beady eyes narrowed between his bushy uni-brow. He charged at us as if we were in the middle of a football game. Mason swung his fist down at the man’s chin, knocking him unconscious.

  We reached our car
s. Most of the members’ cars had been stolen, except for Mason’s and two other members. We squeezed into the three vehicles.

  “Where are we going?” Caroline asked Mason as she got into his car with me.

  “My place, I live outside of town it takes longer to reach the area,” he said, driving off. The other members followed behind him.

  * * *

  We arrived at Mason’s house an hour before sunset. Hans rushed to greet him. Mason dismissed the maids to go home to their families and asked some of his guards to escort them.

  Mason took my hand and led me to the bathtub. He poured milk over my head, washing my eyes out with it.

  Several minutes later, we entered the drawing-room together. Caroline was hunched over on the sofa, dabbing her eyes. I took a seat beside her on the couch.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I hope my husband is okay.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “On duty. My husband is a police officer,” she said, whipping a tear from her air. I didn’t know what to say, today was a harsh time to be an officer as the entire city fell apart.

  We both froze from the bangs of a mob outside the door.

  Just as fast as the clamor started, it came to an abrupt end. I peeked out the curtains to see officers rounding the assailants up in cuffs and shoving them into their squad cars.

  Mason stepped outside to speak to an officer.

  “Thank you, Officer James, for everything. I’m glad to hear you guys have things under control. These anarchists and thugs are tearing up the city.”

  “Someone has to keep these civilians in line. We had to implement martial law. The curfew is set from seven to seven in the morning unless you’re working, but an officer must be present when you’re heading to work after hours. Anyone seen outside after that time will be stopped and questioned. Or shot on-site if they are involved in criminal activity,” the officer said. Another officer arrived on the scene, and Caroline sprung up, running to embrace him.