My stomach growled. I shut the laptop down and scoured the kitchen.
Since I couldn’t boil water, the box of dry pasta was virtually useless unless I wanted to crack my teeth. My other options were cold SpaghettiOs or dry pancake mix. I chose the SpaghettiOs.
As twilight fell, strange lights reflected off the blinds in the living room. I put the empty can of SpaghettiOs aside and peered through a crack where the blinds had bent crookedly when I’d fallen against them one night while trying on a pair of secondhand boots. Another Aurora Borealis lit the sky. This time, a bright fluorescent green disappeared into a reddish haze. When I stared long enough, I could make out the same lines of the torpedo-shaped ship as I had before. The shape could have been right over the southern part of town or hundreds of miles away.
If I left, I’d have two options: get the hell away from it, or find out the truth once and for all. If I chose option one, I could possibly live for months on pillaged can goods, traveling from house to house and evading the Sparkies. But what would that get me? A solitary, depressing existence, hiding in dark rooms for the rest of my life?
Option two was way more dangerous. But, a gut feeling whispered that ship held my answers. If I was going to find out what happened to everyone, including Mom, then the Aurora Borealis on the horizon would be the only logical destination. Even if it was the most dangerous.
My resolve hardened as I watched the insubstantial lines paint the sky. I didn’t want to live like this, always hiding in fear. Tomorrow I’d leave the relative safety of everything I’d ever known and head south. I’d always wanted to travel past the town’s horizon. Or had I?
Be careful what you wish for.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PRISONER
June 26, 2013, 8:32 a.m.
Day 3
I struggled to zip my backpack. The flashlight, extra batteries, cases of bullets, clean clothes, and refilled water bottles were stuffed in so tight, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get anything out again. At the bottom lay the alien rock, my only bargaining chip, wrapped in a holey sock. I glanced to Mom’s room, where the yellowed photo album lay. The binding was too bulky to take with me, but at least I could look one more time.
I stepped over the garbage bags and flipped to the first picture of me riding the merry-go-round. Our smiling faces gave me courage where I feared I had none, reminding me who I fought for. For some reason, I couldn’t leave that picture.
Sorry, Mom. I slipped the picture out of the plastic. The image felt slick and glossy under my fingertips, like she’d barely touched it before preserving it for all eternity. I stuck it in my back pocket. She’d have a hissy fit, but I needed it.
I slung the shotgun over my shoulder and stuck the two handguns in either side of my pink belt. Listening to make sure the hallway lay silent, I moved the bookcase from the door.
Holding the shotgun in front of me, I stepped into the hall. My sneaker squished into slimy goo. Tracks covered the carpet.
Nervous energy flowed through my veins. The Sparkies were here.
Pieces of wood littered the hall in front of Ellen’s unit. I remembered her door being closed last time I walked by it.
Forcing myself to move forward, my heart beat like a lead weight, and each raggedy breath I took echoed in my ears.
Pieces of Ellen’s door cluttered the hall. Those little imps had smashed it open and pulled the cheap wood apart from the outside in. I held my breath as I rounded the corner and looked inside her apartment.
They’d trashed the place. Every drawer sprawled upended with the contents scattered all over the floor. Silverware spread at my feet, along with shards from a porcelain vase, withered flowers, and Cheerios—which were in aisle six, by the way. Clothes hung on furniture covered in sticky goo.
I picked up a silver picture frame. Ellen’s middle-aged face smiled back at me. A small child clung to either arm—perhaps her nieces, because she didn’t have children of her own. Anger swirled inside me. So many lives interrupted. I placed the picture on the shelf where it should have been.
As I turned to leave, I spotted her butterfly keychain on the kitchen counter covered in flour from an open bag spilling from the top shelf. I pulled the key chain from the mess and the key to her silver Buick dangled in front of my eyes.
She’d want me to take it. It was the end of the world, for heaven’s sake. So why did I feel so guilty? I wiped the flour off the keys and stuck them in my pocket. Flour was in aisle seven. I recognized that particular bag from a sale they had last week. Two for $2.99. She must have taken advantage of it. I blinked, trying to rid my mind of all the useless information from my job. A lot of help it did at the end of the world.
Holding the barrel of the shotgun in front of me, I snuck back into the hall and climbed down the main stairs. The branch I’d used to prop the door closed lay on the sidewalk, the glass from the front door shattered on the first five steps.
I stepped over the mess and found Ellen’s silver Buick right where she always parked it. Bingo.
I steered the car down Fairhaven Road, watching for any signs of movement. Even a stray cat or a pigeon would give me hope. But, the streets were as empty as ever. I pulled into the Save ’n Shop lot and parked two inches from the front door in the emergency fire lane in case I needed to make a speedy getaway. This time, I wasn’t even going to try kicking the glass with my sneaker. Feeling all badass like the Terminator, I fired the shotgun at the front glass door. The pane shattered, and I stepped through the wreckage. It made a large noise, but I’d be gone before the imps arrived to investigate. Hopefully.
Without the light music blaring through the overhead speakers, the store lay eerily silent. The only light came from the sun shining through the front glass windows. Shadows covered the back of the store where the deli and bakery sat—two places I didn’t need to visit anyway. The meat and seafood had already started to rot, and the sickly, sweet smell choked me. Al, the store manager, who insisted we throw away every fruit with so much as a bruise, would have had a heart attack.
I pulled a shopping cart from the lines stacked by the doors and chuckled ironically. It seemed like such a normal gesture amidst all of this chaos. Just doing a little shopping here at the end of the world. The wheels squeaked on the shiny linoleum floor. I placed the shotgun on the handles just in case.
Walking through the empty store reminded me of the one night I worked the graveyard shift, stacking shelves to cover for Tom when he got the flu. As I piled in the boxes of pasta, I’d imagined everyone was gone except for me, Hailey, and Mom. In my fantasy, we raided all the high-end department stores, went to the movies over and over again, and ate whatever we wanted. Little did I know the real end of the world sucked.
My mind ran through all of the things I’d need. I stocked up on canned goods first, filling my cart with pears, peaches, green beans, creamed corn, soups, and SpaghettiOs. They tasted decent, even cold. Next, I picked up first-aid items: tissues, towels, batteries, and toilet paper.
My cart overfilled, I made my way to the front of the store. As I passed the register, guilt trickled over me. Should I pay? The card machines were down, and I had ten bucks in my wallet. I doubted I had enough in my bank account to afford it all anyway.
I left the money at the cash register where I usually worked. It would have to do for now. Maybe I could repay Save ’n Shop after I found a way to save the world and bring everyone back. Like that is going to happen.
I forced myself to think positively. At least I was still alive, and I had the Sparkies’ rock. I’d outwitted them once. I had to believe I could do it again.
After checking the parking lot, I booked it to Ellen’s car and opened the trunk. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no Sparkies came at me, I stashed the food and supplies around her spare tire.
Static noise came from the street, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I slammed the trunk and got in the car. The Sparkies must have patrols. What they were doing besides looki
ng for me, I had no idea. I wasn’t about to stay and find out.
I turned the ignition, thanked Ellen for having such a reliable car then sped off in the opposite direction from the noise. I never really drove on the highway because I never traveled out of town. So, when I took the ramp for 95 South, my hands tightened on the wheel. A wave of melancholy hit me hard. I really was leaving.
Static clogged every radio station, and I’d heard enough of that lately. I drove in silence.
Sometimes I’d dodge a stray car parked in the middle of the highway, but, for the most part, the road lay clear. Guess everyone disappeared at the same time in the middle of the night. How convenient for the Sparkies. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself they were to blame for all of this, and I’d only unveiled part of their annihilation plan.
Somewhere into the third hour of driving, everything started to look the same. Hadn’t I already passed that blue Chevrolet on the side of the road?
My eyelids grew heavy, and it took all of my energy to keep my chin up. What I wouldn’t give for a can of Mountain Dew. I’d packed up everything else in that grocery store except for caffeine.
I started to hum, but my voice wasn’t enough to wake me up. I took a deep breath and remembered the lyrics to “Rush.” My fingers beat in rhythm on the steering wheel.
“Like a skydive off a mountain
Adrenaline courses through my veins
There’s no substitute
For when I’m with you….”
As I took a deep breath to launch into the chorus, I noticed a red light blinking by the gas gauge. The arrow pointed to empty.
Damn.
I thought about the blue Chevrolet a few miles back, but there was no guarantee that vehicle had any gas at all. Besides, I didn’t want to move all those groceries into another car. I had no other choice. I had to get off the highway and find a gas station. I’d made it from Nowheresville in Maine to another Nowheresville in New Hampshire. But, at least I made progress. I only hoped the Sparkies hadn’t invaded this state as well.
I pulled into an Irving station just off the highway, by a Dunkin Donuts. I considered breaking into the Dunkin Donuts, but all of the bakery items would be two days old and stale donuts were not appealing. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Checking the parking lot for movement, I took the shotgun and got out of the car. After pointing the barrel in all directions, I checked the pump. Thank the God of Irving, the pumps still worked. Maybe they had some kind of backup generator or something.
As the tank filled, I noticed a sound like a chain dragging on the ground, coming from out back. My first thought was a poor dog tied outside without food or water. It would be the first animal I’d seen since the mass disappearance.
The pump clicked off, and I took it out, and closed the gas cover. My instincts told me to get back in the car, but my heart wouldn’t listen. What if it was a dog, or, even worse, a person in trouble?
“Hello?” My voice trembled with fear in the deafening silence the world had become. I cleared my throat and tried again, this time louder. “Hello?”
The scraping sound stopped, but no one answered. I should have jumped back in the car and left well enough alone. But curiosity and loneliness had eaten away at my logic. I raised the shotgun and rounded the station.
Broken-down cars all in different states of disrepair filled the lot. A pile of used tires sat on the left, by the first trees of a forest hemming in the back lot. My fingers tightened on the trigger as my fingers shook. A Sparkie lay in the corner, its leg and tail caught in a jagged-toothed animal trap, probably meant for possums or skunks. The leg bent at a crooked angle, and the tail hung by a thread of tendon, almost completely severed by the rusty teeth. The phosphorescence on the dandelion-like end had died to a dull glow.
Get back in the car.
My feet wouldn’t move. I almost felt bad for the Sparkie before I reminded myself its kind might have wiped out all of humanity, except me. I needed answers, and anger hardened my resolve. Instead of going back, I pointed my gun at its head.
“Why are you here?”
The Sparkie hissed through its jagged, pointy teeth. Guess they didn’t have braces in outer space. Either it couldn’t understand me, or it refused to answer.
I shot my gun into the air. The sound rang, blasphemously loud, echoing off the building beside us. It took all my restraint not to cringe. I knew it would bring more Sparkies, but I had to prove I was a threat. I gave the Sparkie my very best I-mean-business stare, raised an eyebrow suggestively, and pointed the barrel at its useful leg. “What are you doing on Earth?”
The alien slithered like a snake on the prowl, sizing me up. It had long palms with three skinny fingers on each hand and no fingernails. The deep black eyes gave me the creeps. A cold, calculating menace with a hint of the intelligence lay beneath the dark gaze.
I stepped toward it and wiggled the gun. “I’ll shoot you. I mean it.”
A long, black tongue darted from its mouth, licking its prickly teeth as though it wanted to eat me. Its eyes darted back and forth as if judging the distance between the end of the gun and the slack of the chain. This species had found a way to destroy all living creatures on Earth. If I wasn’t careful, the little imp could outsmart me.
My fingers shook in rage. If I let the surging fury win, I’d lose total control. “What have you done with my mom?”
The tail rose, picking up static like a stray radio station on the wind. Did it call to its friends? I scanned the junkyard nervously. I needed to get back to my car. For all I knew, there could be three others surrounding it as I stood here asking questions it wouldn’t or couldn’t answer.
Two harsh clicks came from its mouth. The way it tilted its head made me feel as if the creature judged me and I came up lacking.
“What the hell do you expect me to do all by myself, huh?”
The wind picked up, and static sizzled from the woods. It could have been my imagination, but under the creature’s breath I swear I heard the words wait and die.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GALE WHO?
My pulse sped into a frenzy, and blood pounded in my ears.
Get out, get out, get out.
I launched around the gas station building. When I turned the corner, the driver’s side door of Ellen’s car lay open. Panic jolted through me before I remembered I’d left it ajar. Thank goodness I’d already detached the gas pump. After checking the backseat, I jumped in and slammed the door behind me. Not looking back, I sped off toward the highway in the direction I’d come. Never again would I let my curiosity get the better of me. Never.
As I grew closer to Boston, more abandoned cars littered the road. I guess people in the big city kept strange hours. All of these people must have been driving when the “vanishing” occurred. Some of the cars had flown off the road, and others had skidded to the side or whirled to face the opposite direction. I slowed to thirty miles an hour to avoid another wreck.
No matter how much I wanted to avoid disappointment, I still looked into every driver’s side window hoping to see someone, anyone, even a dead body. At this point, I’d even settle for a zombie.
Empty. The truth hit me in the face each time. All the vehicles lay empty. Who had all these drivers been? Mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, friends…. Where had they been going at such a late hour? I thought of Mom driving late at night after working two shifts to support me, and how easily one could fall asleep at the wheel.
Stop it. I tortured myself by thinking of “the accident.” Even though I hadn’t been there, I’d imagined it a thousand different ways. They all ended up the same—with her leg severed by the dashboard as her car crunched into the truck in the other lane.
As twilight fell, I ended up somewhere south of Boston. Since I had no idea where the alien ship hovered, I decided to rest for the night in a semi-secure building, rather than sleeping in the car.
The top of a Hilton poked o
ut from the other buildings to the left. I’d never stayed in a hotel before, so I might as well try it in style. I pulled off the highway and weaved around a black Honda sitting in the middle of the ramp. The corner of the Hilton emerged from the treeline, and I chose streets leading in the same direction.
I had to backtrack a few times before I pulled into the fancy roundabout driveway with sculptured bushes and fluttering flags with the Hilton logo. Mom always joked about staying at the Hilton when we hit the jackpot. I wish she could have seen me now. She would have called me Ms. Fancy Pants.
Swallowing a wave of loneliness, I loaded my backpack with food for the night and took my guns. The area was quiet, but that didn’t mean the Sparkies weren’t around. As I’d witnessed in the trapped one, they could turn their sound on and off.
The front door opened without protest. Guess some hotels stayed open at all hours of the night. I shone my flashlight inside. A white marble floor with a pattern of black diamonds at even intervals stretched out before a large reception desk. Not one, but three crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. I half expected some snobby receptionist to tell me I didn’t have a reservation.
As if. That would mean people still lived in the world.
I walked behind the front desk and found a bunch of keycards in a basket. I grabbed a few of them, hoping one would work, and took the stairs to the third level. It was high enough to be away from the street but low enough to run down the stairs to escape. Lush pink carpet cushioned my feet. I selected a random room and tried all the key cards. One after another failed. I thought about firing my gun again, but I didn’t want to draw them close with any sound. I’d already taken that chance twice. At about the fiftieth try, the green light came on, and the door opened.
I raised my gun in my right hand and the flashlight in the other. The air hung cool and sterile, as if the room hadn’t been touched since the last cleaning service. A massive bed with a floral comforter sprawled against the far wall. On the near side, a TV cabinet stood next to a desk with a lamp.
Earth: Population 2 (Paradise Lost Book 1) Page 6
