Sanctuary

by Pauline Creeden

  Hugh glanced at his apartment door and confirmed that it was locked.

  “It appears the aliens have attacked in a manner that our military was completely unprepared for. They have assailed civilians on an individual basis, seemingly at random.”

  Hugh watched scenes from around the world flood the screen. There were night shots from Japan, early morning attacks streaming from Los Angeles, and broad daylight assaults in New York City. All the while, the nervous voice-over continued, “The White House is preparing a statement to be aired when the President is available. We have heard from our press team in D.C. that the President is currently safe in his underground bunker. Please get to safety, yourself, as soon as possible. The aliens emit a rumbling sound and vibration you can feel as they approach. If you feel and hear it, heed the warning and get to safety. Here in the studio, we have Dr. Teruya, a Cox News contributor and psychologist to discuss the aliens.”

  An Asian woman’s face came on. Her expression was stoic as she stood in front of a green screen which continued to play images of the attacks. She froze the picture on a close-up of one of the aliens. “The characteristics of these beasts are not what I had expected from the aliens. Their behavior seems more primitive than I would have thought by studying their ships over the past few weeks. This attack has taken us by surprise.

  “The sharpened canines and pug shape of their faces would make oral communication difficult for their kind. But if you look at their claw-like hands, it is possible that they may have formed the ships we see, at least physically.”

  The first reporter’s voice had become surer, as if feeding off the confidence of the doctor. “Most forms of communication with government officials outside of the direct wire to the White House are offline. So, we’re relying on what the professionals in our studio are able to determine. In your professional opinion, Dr. Teruya, you are not sure if these animal-like creatures are the aliens themselves as opposed to being what? A pet? A weapon?”

  The Asian woman nodded. “Right. I can’t determine it myself, nor can we find any intelligence to make a determination. But my feeling is that these…Shisa could be either the aliens themselves or some variant. Possibly even a soldier.”

  “Shisa?”

  A blush rose to the Asian woman’s face. “That’s what these aliens remind me of, Bob. In Okinawa, we have statues of Shisa, lion dogs, outside of many homes. In truth, the aliens look much like them.”

  The camera panned back to Bob, the original reporter who said, “Thank you Dr. Teruya. As we await more news from the White House, reports are coming in—”

  Hugh muted the television and flipped the channel to another news station. In fascination, he studied the newscasts, riveted as image after image showed Shisa attacking in every city of the world.

  His scientific mind took over, and he grew calmer as he analyzed the alien behavior. His master’s degree was in animal behavior and psychology. The actions of the aliens seemed totally unlike the predatory conduct of Earth’s mammals. Instead of attacking the weak or old, the aliens singled out specific people for no visible reason. If it were a military excursion, he decided they would most likely attack the strongest. But it seemed that wasn’t the plan of attack either.

  A chilling realization poured over him. They left the victims alive. Every single time, the wounded on the ground were seriously injured but alive.

  “What if…” Jumping off the couch, he rushed to the window. Mercury Boulevard sat just below. How many injured and bleeding people would be lying on it? The coward in him wanted to crawl back under the covers, but the hero in him wanted to rush out to the streets to see who might need help. He rubbed his face with his hand, forcing himself to make up his mind.

  He glanced at the clock on the Blu-ray player. He’d been watching the attacks on a loop for over an hour. The rumbling in his chest had completely subsided. The growl in the distance had faded into white noise, easily ignored.

  The coward in him lost. If the noise was distant, the Shisa would be far away, right? He could do this. There had to be some way to help. Slipping on his Converse sneakers, he darted into the hall before he could change his mind.

  When he turned the key in the lock, the elevator bonged its arrival on his floor. He headed for it just before the doors shushed open.

  Mr. Lee, his neighbor, exited the elevator, shoulders bent and wringing his hands. The little old man was mumbling to himself in Korean. Hugh stood aside to let Mr. Lee pass, but the man ran into him anyway.

  “Mr. Lee?”

  The short man jumped back and stared up at Hugh, his face twisted in horror.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Lee?”

  “Mr. Harris.” He shook the terrified look from his face, but his eyes stayed wide. “What you doing?”

  “I am going outside to see if anyone needs help. I tried to call 911, but all the lines seem busy.”

  Mr. Lee’s expression turned sour; his face pinched, as though he’d eaten a lemon. He shook his head and grabbed Hugh by the elbow. “No, Mr. Harris. You no go outside. Sick people out. Hurt people. Bite people.”

  Hugh attempted to decipher Mr. Lee’s broken English. “Mr. Lee, I know that there are hurt people out there. I want to go see if there’s anything I can do.”

  “No, Mr. Harris. No go outside. No one to help, only sick people. Sick people bite.” To emphasize what he was saying, Mr. Lee gnashed his teeth together and acted as though he’d bite Hugh’s forearm.

  Pulling his arm from Mr. Lee’s grasp, Hugh frowned. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s okay, Mr. Lee. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  Mr. Lee dropped his hands to his sides, and the color drained from the old man’s face. But, he didn’t say another word. His shoulders slumped when Hugh pressed the button, and the elevator door popped open in response. The old man held Hugh’s gaze until the doors to the elevator shut.

  The elevator met the lobby, and Hugh felt a vibration in his jeans pocket. Pulling out his iPhone, he saw a text from Clarissa.

  U ok?

  The screaming started the moment the elevator doors shushed open. All the little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he stepped into the empty lobby. The racket came from outside, but it made his blood run cold. He remembered the phone in his hand.

  Fine U? He texted back.

  There was only one bar on his phone, and it wavered in and out. The text was trying to send but didn’t seem to be making it through. He wondered how long ago Clarissa might have sent her text.

  He shoved the phone back into the rear pocket of his jeans and headed straight for the glass doors of the lobby.

  “Where are you going?” The super stood in the open door of his first floor apartment in a burgundy sweat suit. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his left hand and pulled a backscratcher out of the back of his shirt with the other hand.

  Hugh narrowed his eyes at him. Fred looked ten years older than Hugh, with his receding hairline and beer gut. But since they graduated high school together, Hugh knew that he was likely twenty-six as well.

  “I was going out,” Hugh said, shortly. Usually he didn’t give the super the time of day. Fred Black was always on a power kick even though he had none.

  “You can’t go nowhere. I bolted the door.” Fred pointed the backscratcher at Hugh and gave him an ‘I-gotcha’ grin.

  “Isn’t that a fire hazard?”

  “Not today.” Fred scratched his chest with the bamboo scratcher. “The news guy says to keep all doors bolted, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Great.” Hugh walked up to the glass door and peered outside.

  Injured people mulled around aimlessly and with an uneven gait. Their wails permeated the glass. Somewhere, not too distant, a woman was screaming. How could Fred just ignore this?

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” Hugh needed out. Somehow, he had to help the woman.

  “Like what? The phone lines are down, and I ain’t no paramedic. Are you?”


  Hugh shook his head in disgust and turned his back to the glass doors. “What if one of the condo owners comes up to the doors?"

  “For a school teacher, you’re not so bright, huh? That’s why my apartment door is open, of course. I can hear someone knocking, and I’ll let them in. But I ain’t letting in anyone else, and no one leaves.”

  Hugh clenched his jaw in frustration. He jumped at the abrupt pounding behind him. A man's fists hammered the doors. Blood streaked down the glass, blurring the face, as the man slowly dropped to the pavement.

  Blinking twice, Hugh realized that it was Scott James. Scott lived on the seventh floor and had invited Hugh and Clarissa to his Christmas party last year. The glazed eyes made Scott almost unrecognizable. Hugh shuddered. Scott’s face was red and bloated. Patches of hair laced in the fingers that pressed against the glass. His mouth opened in a constant scream, his tongue black and swollen.

  Hugh backed up a step and bumped into Fred.

  “Ugly, ain’t it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They have been like this for almost twenty minutes now. The news hadn’t even reported it yet.”

  “Huh?”

  “Them people that got bit are sick or somethin’. I dunno. But they’re screaming, moaning, and attacking each other and other people. You see? It was for your safety that I ain’t letting you outside.”

  Fred walked around to the other side of Hugh and started pushing him back toward the elevators. “As long as they stay out there, and we stay in here, everything’s hunky-dory.”

  Hugh allowed himself to be herded, still in shock, still speechless. He glanced over his shoulder. Scott James had left several bloody handprints on the door, but he was gone.

  When they had reached the elevator, Fred took his nasty hand off of Hugh and waved it in his face. “See ya later, Teach.”

  And the elevator doors swished shut.

  CLARISSA NUZZLED BRAD’S EAR AND put her hand in his back pocket. Putting on his best charismatic smile, Brad Harris put an arm around her waist and stepped up to the coffee shop counter. He nodded a greeting to the barista. “Hey, can I get two Grande Caramel Lattes?”

  With a giggle Clarissa whispered in his ear, “Extra whipped cream.”

  Her breath caused tingles down the back of his neck. He repeated her request. The barista rolled her eyes and turned around to make their coffees.

  Brad chuckled. He relished the freedom of being in a city where no one knew him. While Clarissa’s senator father was back in Williamsburg, she and Brad got to know each other better while staying in the Capitol Hill townhouse.

  When the barista returned with the two coffees, Brad reached for his wallet but hesitated, fully expecting not to pay.

  “I got it, Babe.” Clarissa growled into his ear and placed a twenty on the counter.

  Without a word, the barista took the twenty and went to the register. Brad released Clarissa and took the two coffees to a table by the window. The Starbucks sat nearly empty. Long ago, it might have been strange on a Thursday morning at 9:15, but not with a large, impervious, silver disk hanging in the sky over the Washington Monument. The pale sunlight poured yellow upon the city outside the window, making the midsummer feel like late fall.

  “Keep the change.” Clarissa giggled.

  Brad snorted his derision while his back was turned to Clarissa. He set the coffees down on the table and held the chair for her. She touched his shoulder in thanks.

  “What should we do today?” he asked.

  Her brown, doe eyes blinked as Clarissa gently bit her bottom lip. After a moment, she asked, “What would you like to do today?”

  Great. Dodging again. Did this girl have no personality? He was already growing sick of this conversation. Playing the lovesick younger brother had taken its toll when he had worked to seduce her from Hugh. Now it was about time to shift gears. He knew women, and if he didn’t take control of this relationship, she would.

  “Well, this town is empty and boring. I know a guy who does tattoos and piercings if you want to try something new.”

  Clarissa’s face flushed, and she dropped her wide eyes. It was obvious. Daddy’s little girl was clean skinned and ‘normal.’ It shook her up to suggest piercings or tattoos.

  She finally muttered, “I don’t know.”

  “A belly button ring might be sexy or maybe a cute little tattoo on your hipbone.”

  Clarissa furrowed her brow a little and tilted her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not scared are you?”

  “Doesn’t it hurt?”

  Playing with the ring above his eyebrow, Brad replied with a wink, “Not much. You can handle it.”

  A smile played on her lips, and he knew he’d get his way.

  A low rumbling struck his chest, and Brad jerked his head up to look out the window. He expected a low-rider to come by on the street with its bass turned up to the max. The table started to shake and the glass wall quivered.

  Brad frowned and pushed back his chair. The rumbling became nearly all he could hear. Clarissa stood next to him and put her hand in his. He took it without a thought. Behind them, the barista squealed, and something made of glass shattered. The manager came out of his office and yelled a curse.

  “Is it an earthquake?” Clarissa leaned hard against Brad’s shoulder.

  “Earthquakes don’t make noise like this.”

  A man in a suit ran past the glass doors, swinging a briefcase behind him. A lion-like creature dodged the briefcase and gained on the man. Clarissa’s vise-like grip became painful, but Brad didn’t move. He clenched his fists and watched the dog-sized lion grab the man by the back of the thigh and pull him down. When the man hit the ground, the creature jumped on his back and bit his shoulder. The lion twisted its head and considered Brad and Clarissa. Blood dripped from its jaw. It studied them for a moment before it turned and ran away.

  “What was that?” The Starbucks manager came up to the window and threw his hands on his hips. His nametag said his name was Steve.

  Speechless, Brad shook his head and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Nausea welled up in his chest, burning his esophagus. Motion sickness. Had to be the constant vibration. The monotonous rumble had a deafening effect. He stepped forward, trying unsuccessfully to extract himself from Clarissa’s claws.

  The manager reached the glass doors and peered out onto the street. He eyed the man who’d been injured by the alien lion and yelled back to the barista, “Hey, Susie! You better call 911!”

  Brad glanced back. The barista sat, balled on the floor in front of the counter, crying and hugging her knees. She didn’t even respond to the manager’s command. Brad reached into his back pocket, pulling away from Clarissa. Even though her face showed no expression, she loosened her grip.

  Pulling out his Blackberry, he dialed. After one ring, an operator picked up. “911 emergency. This is Lisa, how can I help you?”

  “Hi Lisa, I don’t know how to explain this, but we just witnessed an attack on man by a…I don’t know a lion or something.”

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Brad Harris.”

  “And your location?”

  “We are at the Starbucks on Massachusetts Avenue, near the Capitol in D.C.”

  “Do you have an exact address?”

  Brad called over to the manager whose hands never left his hips as he stared into the street, obviously too scared to open the door. “Hey, what’s the street address?”

  “5142,” the manager answered, placing a hand on the handle and inching the door open.

  Brad repeated the number.

  Another, slightly bigger lion-dog rounded the corner and came for the glass doors.

  Clarissa screamed.

  The manager pulled the door closed and flicked the deadbolt. He backed up so fast that he tripped over a chair and tumbled to the floor.

  Clarissa grabbed him, screaming in his ear and digging her nails into h
is arm. Brad’s heart raced. His breath quickened. He gritted his teeth.

  They all needed to stay calm.

  The lion creature regarded them all through the glass and then turned its head and rushed down the street.

  “Sir? Sir?”

  Brad remembered Lisa on the phone just as Clarissa receded into whimpering.

  “Yes, I’m still here,” he said.

  “What just happened, sir?”

  “Another of those lion things just passed in front of the window.”

  “Okay, sir. I’ve got medical personnel en route. Please stay on the line. I’m going to ask you to remain inside at this time until things get under control.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can you secure the door?”

  The manager pushed a table in front of the glass door.

  “Yes, I think it’s as secure as we can make it.”

  “How many people are with you?”

  Brad looked up and counted just the four of them. He debated whether to count the man on the sidewalk since he wasn’t inside. “Five including the injured party, but he’s outside the door.”

  “Normally we would not want to move the injured party, but I…” Lisa trailed for a moment and her voice became muffled, like her hand was over the receiver. When she came back on, she said, “With the danger still present, is there any way you could get him inside?”

  Brad swallowed hard. He really didn’t want to go out there, but he knew he should. The rumbling in his chest faded to a more tolerable level, and Clarissa’s whimpering grew louder. “I guess I could try.”

  “Please do, sir.”

  Trying to pull out of Clarissa’s grip proved impossible. Brad took her by the shoulder and said, “Here, Rissa. Take the phone and talk to the nice lady from 911. Her name is Lisa.”

  “Lisa?” Clarissa’s brown eyes brimmed with tears, but she released her hold and took the phone. She placed it against her ear and gave a shaky, “Hello?”

  Brad marched over to the manager with purposeful strides. “Unlock this. We’ve got to go get that guy in here.”

  “Are you kidding me?” The mousey manager pulled his stare from the window, and his long nose scrunched as he spoke.