Time Bomb: Dimensions Series Book 2
Page 1
Time Bomb
Dimensions Series
Book 1
Seven Steps
Copyright ©2016 by Seven Steps
All rights reserved by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Seven Steps.
Edited by Genevieve Scholl
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Interior book design by Seven Steps
Proudly Published in the United States of America
Also by Seven Steps
Science Fiction Romances
Saving Kiln – Venus Rising Book 1
The Fall of Arees – Venus Rising Book 2
The Martian King: Venus Rising Book 3
Night of the Broken Moon (A Venus Rising Companion Short Stories)
The Escape (A Venus Rising Prequel)
Time Bomb – Dimensions Series Book 1
Free Fall – Dimensions Series Book 2
Leilu – Dimensions: Origins Book 1
Thrillers
Before I Wake
Awaken
Contemporary Romance
The Last Rock King
Peace in the Storm
The Beginning of Forever
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Time Bomb
Dimensions Series
Book 1
CHAPTER 1
Susan Forrester stared at her reflection in the Plexiglas window.
There has to be something more than this.
She slipped out of her shoes and ran her bare toes over the worn, hole-filled carpet that lined the floor of her office cubicle. The invigorating sensation stood in startling contrast to the numbness she felt in her soul. Her work as an IT Analyst bored her. Her small apartment seemed more like a coffin. She had no friends to speak of, and no family. There was no one in her life that loved her. Susan Forrester was alone. But she had carpet. Scratchy, rough carpet. The feeling of running her toes over it was the closest thing to an emotion that she’d ever felt. It comforted her. Anchored her to the world in a most inexplicable way. Without it, she was sure that her body would forget that it was alive and float out of the window and into the clouds, never be seen again.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Hey, Sue. You got a stapler?”
A curt, Russian curse flew through her mind at the sound of Meghan Roberts’s voice. The same swear word that showed up whenever Susan was feeling especially agitated. It was odd, as Susan did not speak Russian. She was an eighteen year old African American college graduate, born and raised in Harlem, New York. Yet, the word felt natural. As if it belonged inside her head. She'd often wondered where she had heard it before. On the streets? Maybe in college? Television, perhaps? She had no idea. Yet, ever so often, the word showed up, like an old friend. It always sent a small smile to her lips, comforting her in the same way that the carpet did.
"Hello? Earth to Sue."
Meghan Roberts, her perky, brown haired co-worker, poked her head into Susan’s small cubicle, making Susan’s teeth clench. She hated being called Sue, though she never told Meghan that. Just the thought of confrontation made Susan tense. She couldn't remember ever being in a fight, though, sometimes, in her darker moments, she pounded her bedroom pillows until the stuffing flew out. But, more than Meghan's unwelcomed nickname, she especially hated when people touched her or came into her personal space. Especially her cubicle. Especially Meghan Roberts. The woman always wanted to stay and talk at Susan instead of to her. Her very presence made Susan feel more alone than she already felt.
Susan handed Meghan the stapler without making eye contact, hoping to avoid one of the woman’s ramblings about her life.
“Thank you. I always lose my stapler. In fact, just this weekend, Tom was telling me how…”
And it began. Meghan’s mouth moved at a mile a minute, blathering on about her husband, her kids, and her weekend watching an amateur softball game.
Why doesn’t she ever ask me about my evening, or what my plans are for the weekend? Not that I ever have any plans, but she wouldn't know that. She never asks. All she does is go on and on about her kids, or her fat husband and his stupid softball games. No one cares, Meghan!
Her teeth clenched, and the swear word came back to her mind. She focused on it, hoping that it was something especially foul as Meghan continued to talk without regard as to whether Susan was listening or not. Heck. The woman didn’t even look at her. She chose to look through her instead, making Susan feel more like a voice recorder than a flesh and blood person. Irritation tingled her throat, like a cough threatening to escape. She imagined body slamming the woman to the floor and fleeing the building, never to return. The violent thought both drew her and startled her, like a moth going toward a bug zapper. She knew it was wrong for her mind to go there, but it was so tempting. So ... familiar.
Maybe something's wrong with me?
“Do you think these pants look black?” Meghan asked, pulling at her obviously black leggings. “It’s more of a blue than a black, I think, but the tag said that it was black so I don’t know.”
Your question doesn't even make sense!
“They look black to me.”
Meghan’s head shot up, her brows furrowing as if Susan was interrupting instead of conversing.
The swear word came back again, and Susan closed her mouth tight to keep it in instead of hurling it at Meghan.
How can one person be so self-centered? She makes me want to put my head through my desk. She makes me want to put her through my desk.
Susan pondered the war that waged inside of her. Sweet and mild versus dark and violent. She wondered where the second side had come from. Had something happened to her as a child? It was possible. She didn't remember her childhood. In fact, she didn't remember much of anything past a year ago, outside of the basics. Her name. Her address growing up. Her parents’ names. Her college. The year she graduated. Things like that. But there weren't any specifics. She knew her mother's name was Jane Forrester, but she didn't know what her perfume smelled like or what shade of lipstick she wore. She knew she went to St. John's University and studied Computer Science, but what were the names of her college friends? Did she go to parties? Did she live on campus? Her life was a vague outline, with no details or memories that she could hold
on to. All that was left was carpet, swear words, and the freedom that came from punching her pillow. But she tried not to think about that. The questions and the dark thoughts just made her feel more alone than she already felt.
Meghan's chatter continued unabated.
“In fact, just yesterday, I went to Macy’s on Fifth street to-”
Meghan’s phone ran, and Susan tried not to moan in relief. The woman was exhausting.
“I have to get that, but we’ll talk later.”
Meghan rushed back to her cubicle at the end of the row, leaving Susan to return to the loneliness that engulfed her. She looked out of the window and imagined herself leaving her body and flying out to touch the clouds and play with the stars.
If only.
Suddenly...
BWWWWAAAA.
It was as if a fog horn had been blow directly into her ear. The sound was loud, shaking her to her core and vibrating her teeth.
BWWWWAAAA.
She slammed her hands over her ears, terror squeezing her lungs shut and racing her heart.
What’s happening? Is it an alarm?
BWWWWAAAA.
The dissonant sound made her stomach clench and flip, nauseating her. Her eyeballs shook. Her brain felt as if it might explode at any minute.
What’s happening?
BWWWWAAAA.
She dared to look up, her eyes coming to the window.
BWWWWAAAA.
Cars and mailboxes levitated off the ground, hovering in midair before crashing back down to earth.
BWWWWAAAA.
The cars rose again, higher this time. Her windows spider webbed. Her building shook.
“Oh my god!” She heard Meghan scream. “What's happening?”
Another horn sounded in Susan’s head, and her desk and chair shook. She flung herself from the chair just as it and the desk rose from the carpeted floor and slammed into the ceiling. A moment later, they feel to the ground.
Captured by fear, Susan crawled from her desk and looked down the aisle.
“Meghan? Meghan, are you alright?”
BWWWWAAAA.
Everything around her rose and fell again, forcing her to curl up in a ball and cover her head to avoid the sharp metal shards that flung themselves at her.
“Meghan!” she cried out.
She crawled forward again, finally arriving at Meghan’s cubicle, only to find the woman splayed out and crushed beneath her desk. Her once black, or possibly blue, leggings now dirty and gray as pieces of ceiling rained down on them.
“Meghan!”
She reached out for her, sorry for all the mean things she'd thought about her.
Maybe there is a pulse. Maybe she’s still alive.
BWWWWAAAA.
The world rose around her, and she felt the ground move as the contents of the second floor of her building tried to burst through the carpet that lined the third floor.
The world fell, and what remained of Meghan’s desk came crashing down, crushing her skull flat.
“No!” Susan felt her lungs shake.
The woman rambled, but she didn’t deserve to be flattened like that either.
Oh no. Meghan! What’s happening? How do I get out of here?
BWWWWAAAA.
The printer erratically spat out paper before making a whizzing sound and dying as its circuits were smashed against the ceiling. Large, square humps formed in the floor as the chairs, desks, and office equipment from the second floor office beneath them fought through the carpet. It was as if the entire Staples catalogue wanted to reach up and touch the sky.
Alone and afraid, Susan did the only thing she could. She ran for the door, her thoughts turning from her dead co-worker to finding a way out.
She pushed open the door to the hallway, fled down the deserted, darkened corridor, and opened a second door that led to the staircase.
BWWWWAAAA.
The horn vibrated her skull.
Behind her, the lower floor had finally broken through, crushing the space that she had inhabited for the last year.
Fear banging in her chest, her feet raced down the grey, concrete stairs.
BWWWWAAAA
Pieces of metal hung in the air before her. Discarded keyboards and monitors that previously had laid serene in boxes at the bottom of the stairs, all rose high before slamming down again.
I have to get out of here!
She reached the bottom floor, headed toward what she hoped was safety. Just a few steps in front of her stood the metal door that led to the outside world. She pushed against it.
BWWWWAAAA
The metal bar vibrated in her hand, as if trying to rip itself away. To fly with everything else. She pushed it quickly, making her way out of the door before it tore itself from its hinges.
Susan screamed as the metal door came hurling toward her. She threw herself out of the way and rolled on her side, bracing for impact. The door landed just inches away from her body, crumpling against the concrete as if it were made of paper. Metal and paint shot in every direction.
BWWWWAAAA.
The pieces of metal raised skyward.
Oh my God. What’s going on? I have to get to the fire station across the street. I have to find help!
She looked around her, her eyes widening in horror. The large trash bin next to the door, the rusted gates that surrounded the littered parking lot, and the late model cars that lined the streets all shook, rose, and fell in time to the horn in her head.
BWWWWAAAA.
She put her hand over her ears, trying to keep the sound at bay, but it was no use. It grew louder, echoing off her palms, making her feel as if she were in the middle of an earthquake. She fought against terror and nausea. She forced herself to be calm.
I have to get to the fire station. They’ll know what to do.
Scrambling to her feet, she ran from the parking lot and turned to the corner. The usually packed fenced-in garden next to her building was now abandoned. On nice days like that, the homeless congregated there to get some sense of beauty in their dejected lives. But the homeless were not there now. Neither was the fence, which insisted on rising up when the horn sounded and crushing the flowers beneath it when the horn stopped.
Terrified people scattered as the world rose and crashed around them.
Middleborough, Connecticut wasn't a great neighborhood, with its high homeless population, but now the streets looked like a bomb had exploded. The place had gone from a ghetto to a war zone in a matter of minutes.
BWWWWAAAA.
She weaved her way through the bedlam around her. Smoke bellowed from buildings. Flames roared into the sky. Water spouted high as fire hydrants were ripped from the concrete. Manholes flew through the air like wayward, deadly missiles.
Screams. Panic. Terror. Fear.
Someone grabbed on to her—one of the homeless she’d seen hanging out in front of her building just that morning. His crusted eyes were wide in fright. His dreadlocked, blond hair wilder than usual. Blood dripped down his scratched face.
“It’s the end of the world!” he cried.
BWWWWAAAA.
A car rose next to them and crashed down again, the wind from it knocking them backward. The man’s head bounced off the concrete, and he screamed no more.
Her heart in her throat, her brain rattled from the horn sound, Susan found her feet and ran to the man, checking his dirty, sun burned neck for a pulse. She found none, and, when she pulled her hand away, blood dripped from her fingers. The same blood that now pooled around the man's head.
No. No. Please.
She'd seen that man yesterday, peeing against her car. The Russian curse flung from her mouth, along with a string of other Russian words that she didn't know she knew, though she got the sense that they weren't nice. Now he was dead.
Was that her fate? Would everyone she'd ever been angry with die that day?
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean any of it. I'm so-"
; The horn sounded again, making her brain feel as if it were ripping in half.
Across the street, a yellow fire truck levitated in the air. A lone fireman crawled from the wreckage that was now the fire station, his legs crushed, his teeth bared in anguish.
No. Not the fire station!
BWWWWAAAA.
She gritted her teeth against the sounds. The horn. The ripping metal that squealed like a thousand rabid pigs. The clang of cars as they were hurled about. The symphonic clashing of metal banging in the streets. The screams of the people. Dogs barking. Women crying.
Confused and frightened, Susan tried to think past the noise. Past the hurricane of horrors that whipped around her.
Where can I go? What can I do?
Above her, the sky filled with dark clouds. All except a small clearing directly above her. It was as if God himself had deemed her the only human worthy of blue sky and sunshine. Around the small opening, the clouds swirled and trembled. They reminded her of a giant, dire bullseye, and she was in the middle of it.
No. It can’t be. I can’t be doing this. It’s impossible! It’s-
BWWWWAAAA.
Pieces of metal leapt from the ground and crashed back to earth. With every leap, the metal flew higher in an insane effort to touch the clouds. To play among the stars.
Cars’ horns blared as the cars beat themselves against the ground. Fire hydrants became deadly weapons. Glass flew in all directions. Bricks fell from the tops of buildings.
The strained sound of twisting metal ripping free grated at Susan’s ears. The smell of smoke and fire burned her nose. Her fingertips tingled with an electric sensation, as if she’d rubbed her socks across carpet and touched a door knob. The feeling flowed through her, threatening to burst forth. Everything swirled around Susan, moving in time with the whirling clouds above her. And, still, the horn went off in her head, its constant noise making her bones rattle.