The Last Legacy (Season 1): Episodes 1-10

by Lavati, Taylor

  Episodes

  Copyrights

  Title

  Eight days ago…

  Episode One

  Episode Two

  Episode Three

  Episode Four

  Episode Five

  Episode Six

  Episode Seven

  Episode Eight

  Episode Nine

  Episode Ten

  Acknowledgements

  The Last Legacy: Season One

  Copyright © 2015 by Taylor Lavati.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1508762325

  ISBN-13: 978-1508762324

  Editing by Narrative Ink Editing

  Cover by Danielle Rose

  To contact the author please visit her website at

  Www.taylorlavati.com

  I hated taking the bus. Creepy men sat next to me on a daily basis, trying to get me to get off on their stop. As if I had been born yesterday. My headphones were the first wall of deterrent I used against them. If they got through that wall, I’d change seats, then get off early and walk the rest of the way. I plugged the buds into my iPhone, noting that my service blinked off. I clicked around trying to restore the bars, but to no avail. It wasn’t like I had anyone to text or Facebook chat anyway. I tried to keep to myself.

  The day had begun shitty, so I guessed it made sense that it would continue on that track. Mr. Heimenstein started my day off with his usual repetitive nagging, only today it was turned up to the max. Half the day he treated me more like a personal slave than his administrative assistant. And the other half I hid in the bathroom playing Candy Crush while nursing a Mountain Dew.

  “Go get me a coffee, Miss Greyson.” “More sugar, Miss Greyson.” “Miss Greyson, please put a smile on.” I wanted to slug the balding jerk in the face and quit my job. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

  The job was all I had, and if I was truthful with myself, I was under-qualified to begin with. At twenty-four I only had a GED and two years at the local community college under my belt. Even that had been a feat to accomplish and bled my finances dry.

  “Hey, miss.” Some guy tapped my shoulder from behind. I turned and pulled out one of my headphones. “You hearin’ what they been saying on the news?”

  “No.” I wasn’t much of a news watcher. My early life had been crappy enough that I didn’t want to subject myself to more tragedy. Plus, I didn’t pay for the big name channels like CNN or MTV. I lived off my ten dollar a month Netflix subscription.

  “We’re going to war.” The man’s brown eyes grew wide, like that was an exciting concept. His mouth formed an ‘O’ and I noticed a few teeth missing on the bottom.

  “With who?” I asked back.

  “Dunno. I guess California was attacked with a monster bomb, and now they think it could come for us.”

  “Here? In Connecticut?” I hardly believed that.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Are you sure you weren’t just watching a movie?” I had to admit, from the way the guy’s eyes bugged out, he could’ve been crazy. I knew tensions had been high with some of the Middle Eastern countries lately—I didn’t completely remove myself from society—but I didn’t think we’d jump into a war on our own turf. Although, again, I didn’t watch the news.

  “No movie, miss. Swear it. I was listenin’ on the radio.”

  “Well, okay, then.” I smiled at him and nodded. I turned back around and put my headphone back in, hoping he didn’t bother me again. What a strange man. Not more than two minutes later the bus stopped at the end of my road. A lot of us took the bus on this street since we were all lower class and worked. I watched for the man but he stayed on the bus, his face planted against the window.

  My modest two-inch heels clicked on the pavement. I didn’t dare step on the sidewalk. I had learned long ago that the pavement was much more forgiving than the cracked concrete. Especially with heels that got stuck in the divots, snapping like twigs.

  My pant suit stuck to my legs. I had exactly five work outfits that I had to switch around. Today as my hair stuck to my sweaty neck, I realized I chose the wrong outfit. I thought if I looked nice my boss would give me a break, but apparently it only prompted him to be a bigger ass.

  The road was quiet as it always was around five o’clock. The men in the house next to me worked nights, so this was their nap time. For Jean, my neighbor on the other side, this was when she went off to work. The yippy little dog behind the rusted, old fence barked as I passed Jean’s house.

  “What are you crying about today?” I baby talked the dog. I sympathized with him, chained up outside no matter what the weather was doing. But honestly, the headaches overtook the sympathy. He just didn’t shut the hell up. Ever. I had tried giving him bones, soft treats, and even cans of food, and he still yapped for hours on end.

  I got the two pieces of mail from my box and trudged up the two steps to my front yard. I lived alone, which I had craved for most of my life. I didn’t have any friends—not real ones anyway. I had co-workers who lived real lives and hated combining work and play. It wasn’t the worst, but sometimes I wished there was someone I could talk to.

  I folded the letters under my armpit and hiked the briefcase on my hip while I juggled my keys, looking for the right one. The screen door was a pain in my ass, always bashing against the side of the house. A permanent crater dug in where the handle hit in the shingles day in and day out.

  I stepped into the chilly house and dropped all my crap on the mat just inside the door. I had to press the door shut extra hard to get it to click. And yet, I would still take this over the studio apartment I shared with three girls a few years back. I was dumb when I said I’d stay with them, but I made it out alive and was finally living by myself. I didn’t like to dwell on the past no matter how hard it tried to creep in.

  I rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, my stomach grumbling. I didn’t have much so I put on a pot of coffee and flicked on the TV in the living room. A huge red banner flashed across the screen saying, ‘State of Emergency! President declares National State of Emergency.’ Flashes of people running through the streets in California flew on the television.

  I ran to my front door without another question, locking the bolt. My stomach churned as the woman’s voice blared from the television. I pulled the window beside the door open, glancing out as my fingers trembled on the sill. Nothing appeared out of place.

  I ran back to the living room and sat on the arm of the puke green couch. Yippy was still barking away outside, his bark grating on my nerves. I groaned as I turned the volume up on the television, my eyes glued to the screen.

  “Stay in your homes. Across America bombs with potentially lethal toxins have been dropped. We are just getting word that—“ The screen fell to blackness. The picture blinked back a few times, but after a moment went completely off.

  “What the fuck?” I jumped off the sofa and fiddled with the buttons on the TV. I changed the channel, an
d the picture popped back on. I sat back on my knees, only inches from the screen, and watched destruction take place.

  Planes dropped crates, jets zipping overhead. Explosions destroyed houses, diminishing them to piles of pure ash. I covered my mouth with my hand as I watched civilians be murdered by shrapnel—others by direct contact with the fire the bombs left in their wake.

  Pure chaos reined down the streets. People broke into stores, taking advantage of the situation. Others got into cars and crashed as they rushed. My heart sped as I watched that all take place.

  I tried to read what was flashing on the screen, but it was coming too frantically, the words scrolling through fast. Americans at risk. Symptoms from gas bombs unknown. Don’t breathe the air. Don’t go outside. If you’re at a safe location, stay there. 10 PM curfew to be enforced tonight.

  And then it was all gone. The power shut off, all the lights in my house dying, the old clock in my kitchen completely blank. The ground vibrated like an earthquake, and I dove underneath the kitchen table, covering my head with my arms.

  “What is happening?” I muttered to myself.

  The television suddenly sprung to life, the voices of the newscasters filling my small home.

  “Do not flee!” the woman said in a strained voice. I couldn’t see anything. I was too afraid to leave the safety of the floor to look up at the TV in the next room. Her voice was loud enough I could listen.

  “I repeat. Do not flee! This will only create traffic and will slow down the National Guard and our military. The government needs to be able to get through, especially in larger cities. Find your loved ones and hunker down.”

  A plane whizzed above, shaking my rickety house. It sounded too close for comfort, inches from the ground. Something crashed from my bedroom. What sounded like an explosion went off not far from me—what I assumed was a bomb.

  The ground beneath me shook, my dishes rattling in the cupboards. Something fell to the floor in the living room and shattered. Glass scattered across the floor. I held myself tighter, rocking to soothe the sobs that were releasing from inside me. What was I supposed to do?

  The quaking stopped. The ground now still. I crawled out from under the table, careful to avoid the broken glass. My entire body felt like it experienced a trauma, shaky and full of adrenaline. Nausea churned in my stomach, the fear of the unknown manifesting.

  I turned towards my window at a strange sound. It was like a crying man, but more intense. The noises were like moaning, full of pain and sorrow. I walked to the window and peeked out.

  A man stood in the center of the road, a foot on each side of the yellow line. He wandered with no apparent direction, one step to the left, the other completely to the right. The sleeve of his suit jacket ripped off at the elbow, his slacks torn at the knees and hips. I didn’t know him, but something about his face sparked recognition.

  Where there would have normally been an arm was only emptiness. His eyes flashed up to me, vacant and devoid of any emotion. But I couldn’t focus on them. I stared at the empty space where an arm once was. It must have been torn from the socket because there was no clean break or rounded skin. It was just gone, blood covering his clothes.

  I turned and ran to the kitchen sink. I vomited at the horrific sight of that broken man. But I made no attempt to go out and find him. Instead, I drew the curtains on all of my windows, blocking out more broken people from finding me. I ran to my bedroom and locked the door behind me, sinking into my cotton sheets and crying.

  Curiosity got the better of me. A few minutes later, I meandered back into the living area. My face felt puffy and swollen, my heart skittering for so long, I felt out of breath. I sat down on the couch and flipped the TV on, hoping for good news.

  The reception had degraded to fuzzy gray blotches and the faint outline of a person behind it. The woman who was just telling us to lock indoors now appeared distant. She yelled instead of reported now, her voice full of madness.

  “Bombs from unknown, unmarked aircrafts.” Her voice cut out. “Potentially lethal. Don’t breathe the air.” I had no idea what to do about air. The reporter coughed into the microphone and I took her warning more seriously. I jumped off the couch and found some sheets and blankets from my bathroom cabinets.

  Running to the front door, I nearly tripped over the large pile of cloth. I stopped at the front door and shoved the sheets into the little crack between the door and the floor. There was a crack near the door handle, but I couldn’t do much about that. I did the same against the back door.

  While the reporters voice spoke of hunkering down and finding safety from the alleged acts of terrorism, I walked the entire house, making sure windows were locked and blinds were drawn tight. I didn’t know if the attackers were on our soil or not, but I didn’t want to risk them seeing me inside. I was actually thankful I had such a small house.

  The sun began to set, and I found my nerves slowly building with each minute that ticked by. I sat at the kitchen table chewing my nails to my skin. Who would do this to us? Why would they? It didn’t make sense. And why was the air tainted? How?

  This attack felt out of place, seemingly coming out of nowhere. I hadn’t heard anything at the office about an impending war. I know I didn’t watch the news, but it didn’t mean I didn’t listen. Usually, most of my information came from the office. Shit. Would I have work tomorrow? Would I have work ever again?

  I fell asleep on the couch, watching the reporters change by the hour. The picture had died off, but their voices remained. I was glued to the damn television, eager to hear what was going on. The world moved around me, yet there was nobody to comfort me or tell me it would be okay. The news reporters gave me comfort. If I could hear them, then we were okay.

  The house rattled, dust falling into my eyes. A bomb exploded not too far away that woke me up. I jerked up and fell onto the floor in my living room, my head banging against the wood coffee table.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I rubbed the back of my head. Sun streamed into the room in slats of yellow light. Had yesterday been a dream? I found the remote on the floor beside me. I sat up and clicked the television on. But it remained black. Had I lost power? The indicator light was illuminated red on the front of the television so I knew it was receiving juice.

  My mind fuzzed with confusion, and I wasn’t sure why. Surely, the bombs had to have been a dream. I stood up, my lower back and knees aching from spending the night on the couch. I shuffled into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. The power must have been working since the red light on the front blinked to life.

  I pulled the sheet out from under the door and pulled it open. The cool air of the morning hit me square in the face and I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. Normally, it was tinted with pollution. Today it reeked of explosives; pure sulfur, spent bonfires, and burning rubber.

  I glanced to my left and right, but both yards were vacant. The world was dead silent, not even birds chirping in the tall evergreen trees. A chill crept up my spine. I hugged my arms around myself. Unsure, I walked down the front three steps and to the rusted fence that separated my yard and Jean’s.

  “Jean!” I called out. She tended to be up before me most days. She had a large vegetable garden in her back yard and most days she went to a market to sell her pickings. Other than that, her and Yippy rarely left their yard.

  Something shattered from inside her house. And then she appeared in her doorway. Her black mane of hair poked out in waves like Medusa. Her pinched face softened when she saw me.

  “Well, hurry, child. We can’t be out in the open.” She waved me over and I jumped the fence. Yippy barked from inside. She pulled me in by the elbow and slammed her door shut.

  I’d been in her house a few times before. It always had piles of papers and clothing and seeds around, but right then, it was worse. Instead of piles, she had mounds. She brushed past me and started sifting through clothes. She threw them in a suitcase and then moved onto the next.

  “Wher
e are you going?” I asked. For some reason, her quick movements had me on edge. My eyes flicked around the room, a feeling of constant paranoia overtook me. Yippy ran into the room and jumped up on my leg. Luckily, the little Chihuahua barely reached my knee as he clawed, trying to climb me like a tree.

  “I have to go check on my family in Rhode Island. My mamma isn’t good in a thunderstorm so I’m sure she’s in a bad place. I’ll come back with her if I can.”

  “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Sure do. We’ve been attacked by some assholes with bombs. ‘Aint no lie in that. You better get back into ya house. You’re lucky, girl.”

  “How am I lucky?”

  “You have nobody to worry ‘bout. No family, no man, no children. Count your blessings, Lana. Instead, I gotta drive two hours. I got no idea what’s goin’ on out there.” She shook her head as she threw something in her bag. Clothes spilled onto the floor.

  “Take me with you,” I begged her. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want to stay in my house by myself, every creak in the floor boards making me jump with fright.

  “No, sweet girl. I won’t have your blood on my hands. Hartford’s going to be a struggle to get through. I’m sure that others are fleeing. I can only hope they’re going south.”

  “Why south?”

  “Warmth, family, I dunno. Seems the smartest way to go. That or stay put.” She turned and faced me. Her blue eyes targeted me and held me in their grasp. “Lana, promise me you’ll be smart and stay safe.” She grabbed onto my shoulders and forced me to look up at her. She had a good five inches on me, more muscle than my scrawny arms had. But she’d always been nice to me.

  “I promise.” My chest constricted, knowing this was goodbye. I didn’t have any friends, but if I had to name someone, it’d be her. “Do you think the attackers will come on our soil?”