“Sweetie, it’s worse. The bombs have chemicals or fluids in them. They’re changing humans into monsters. The attackers are the least of our problems now. The world’s changing. Let’s just hope our scientists and government can hold up. Otherwise, run. Go south. Maybe we can find each other again someday.”
“Why can’t I go with you?” For some reason, my eyes prickled with tears.
“I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
“I’d live. I’m a survivor.”
“No, Lana. I’m going south after I get my mamma. Find me when this all dies down.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. I walked towards the front door, her arm guiding me from behind. “Be safe. And don’t trust anyone.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded and then the door slammed in my face. I stood for a moment, reflecting on her words, staring at the chipped red paint of her door. Humans were changing into monsters because of the bombs. But what kind of monsters?
I took the long way down her front walkway and down the street. My footsteps were slow as I surveyed the entire area, looking for monsters. I didn’t understand what she meant by the word. I didn’t know what to look for.
I didn’t want to be ignorant, but I felt exposed in the empty street. I ran to my house and locked myself inside. I ate a peanut butter and jelly, and drank a cup of coffee as Jean’s words floated around my head.
After wasting time, I went to the living room and fiddled around the back of the television. The house still had power, but when the tv popped on, the screen appeared blank. It didn’t even have the scratchy white static, it was just blackness, an empty void.
After an hour of messing with the plugs, cables, and internet router, I gave up. There was no use trying to get the thing to work. I found my cellphone in the kitchen, but like yesterday, it had zero service and none of my apps would load.
What the heck was I supposed to do? I pulled a kitchen chair in front of the window and stared outside, peeking through a small square I made by pulling the curtain back and pinning it with a clothespin.
I sat for hours watching the vacant street. Planes flew overhead, bombs sounded in the distance. But there was nothing so close that I got nervous. I hoped the planes were our country fighting back. But with the tall evergreens blocking my view, I didn’t know much.
Before bed, I checked the electronics again. But like before, they were useless.
I felt like the last woman alive. I hadn’t seen anyone in two days. Not many noises sounded anymore. I didn’t hear planes or cars or much of anything. I hadn’t even seen a human since I left Jean in her house. I decided to venture out of the house and see if she had actually left.
Thinking I should be safe, I grabbed a kitchen knife from the top drawer next to the stove. I had no idea what I was up against, but I figured better safe than sorry. I still hadn’t seen the so-called monsters.
I left through the front door and hopped the fence. I nicked my finger by accident on the knife, drawing a bead of blood. I shoved my finger in my mouth. Her front door clattered against the side of the house, left wide open. My heart rate picked up. Did she leave it open or was someone else scavenging? I swallowed a lump in my throat and stepped over the threshold.
“Hello?” I whispered. “Anyone here?” I asked with a bit more strength behind me. Only silence greeted me back. Her house mimicked mine, structure-wise. Most on this street resembled one another, only a few with additions and remodeling.
I walked through her kitchen, living room, and two bedrooms. She was gone. But so were all of her belongings. I figured while I was out I should get some food to last me longer. But as I searched her cupboards, I realized the house had been looted or she took every last parcel.
It sounded bizarre when I thought it. Why would she waste precious space on food? She was in such a hurry, so I doubt she gave herself the time to pack her clothes and food. A weird prickling settled in my stomach.
I left the house. The road showed more wear than before. It had just been paved two years prior, but looking at it now, you’d never know. I wasn’t sure if it had to do with the planes being so low or the nearby bombings, but long cracks cut into the asphalt.
The evergreens bent at weird angles near the tops. What used to be pointed triangles were now rounded off and broken. Some of the trees had broken completely, the remnants of what used to be now just dead space. The area around me changed, but I didn’t know what it meant.
Below my feet, the ground shook. It wasn’t very noticeable but since I was standing still, listening and searching, I felt it. I crouched down as the vibrations intensified. Then a rumbling sounded not too far away, the shaking intensifying.
Appearing out of no where, military tanks drove towards me. The residential street just south of Hartford that I called home had become something out of a war movie. The tanks moved slow, but stood high and wide, taking over the entire width of the street.
I ran to the fence and clung to it as I watched the tanks move. At least ten of them lined up, rolled towards me. I clutched the knife in my hand—but I knew I couldn’t do anything if these guys were the enemy.
“Miss!” someone yelled. “Miss, get up!” A man stalked towards me in full camo and riot gear. He looked like some of the men during the day of the attacks, trying to control the mayhem of citizens fleeing. He had a large gun over his shoulder, weapons dangling off his pant leg. He wore a helmet with a gas mask around his neck, off his face.
“What the hell you think you’re doing out here? Don’t you watch the news?”
“The n-news doesn’t w-w-work.” My entire body shook in fear. I struggled to stay conscious as the dark-haired man loomed over me. He spoke perfect english, appeared American—but Jean said not to trust anyone.
“Get inside your home and stay there. Don’t ever come out again unless you see men like me at the door. Violent beings roam the streets now. You’re lucky they didn’t find you yet. Kill anyone with red eyes at night. They’re stronger when it’s dark and cold, so if you must go out, go during the day when they’re lethargic. You understand what I’m saying?” His dark eyes penetrated me. Red eyes? Like vampires? His words jumbled together, and I tried to sort through his riddles.
I nodded. “Sure. Kill men with red eyes.” I hoped that was the answer he seemed.
“Kill anyone with red eyes. The virus affects us all—children, women, animals. Now get inside.” He shoved me towards my house. I rubbed my shoulder where his hot hand had pressed.
“Can you take me with you? I’m alone.” I knew the answer since it was written all over his frowning face. But I had to try. I didn’t want to be stuck in my house anymore. I was going crazy.
“No. We’re going into battle. You’re safer alone.”
I turned and walked towards my house, knowing I couldn’t say another thing. The tanks moved on as I watched from my doorway. Once they drove by, I never saw another, yet the bombings came more frequent.
I feared that we lost the battle. I feared that we lost the war. I spent all my time sitting at the window, watching and waiting for soldiers to come by. And when two days passed and not a single person came into view, I knew something had gone wrong.
Just as I was about to give up my post, a person meandered down the road. She was alone, her dress tattered at her knees and wrists. There was a copper-colored substance down the front of her. I glanced up, noting that the sun was still out which meant she must’ve been moving slower than normal. She apparently was less of a threat now.
I leaned backwards so she couldn’t see me. But her eyes flicked to mine and connected. Hers were red, no color or pupil. They had no emotion in them, just empty orbs of red that found me. Her mouth opened. Then chomped shut. I could practically hear her teeth grinding.
I froze. I couldn’t move. She stepped towards me and my stomach twisted. Her hands were covered in cuts and bruises. Her feet had no shoes on them and shuffled against the gravel. The tops of her arches w
ere coated with dirt and blood. I didn’t know what to do.
She moved closer. I couldn’t just sit here. I pulled the curtain shut so she couldn’t spot me. What should I do? The panic coursing through my veins intensified. I didn’t want the monster to get in here. This was the only place I had. I didn’t want to die. The blank look she showed chilled me.
I ran to the kitchen. Something banged against the window. What sounded like claws scraped against the wood of the side of my house. I flipped over the kitchen table and shoved it against the wall. But it was too short to cover the window.
I knew I had a toolbox somewhere in the house. I pulled open the cabinets under the kitchen sink and found the small blue box. An axe would’ve worked better, but all I had was a hammer and a dozen nails. I swung the hammer down and broke the legs off the table. Beads of sweat dripped down my neck.
I tried to lift the table against the wall, but it took every effort just to turn it over. I grunted as I propped it against a chair. The nails were barely long enough to go through the table and hold into the wall. As the woman bashed her fists against the window and siding, I nailed the table to the window. By the time the table was secure, my entire body flashed with heat sweats.
“Thank god,” I muttered to myself as I leaned against the wall. The kitchen fell to darkness. I slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor. The woman continued to bash against the wall so hard that the walls shook.
The rest of the house became dark as the hours ticked by. I didn’t move from my spot on the kitchen floor. The woman refused to quit, her hands probably raw and beaten to the bone. A single light shined above where the table used to be, the bulb flickering with every movement.
But a few minutes later, the light blinked off, rendering the entire house in a sea of pure black. My breath caught in my throat as I pushed onto my knees and crawled around. I pressed the top button on the microwave, but nothing happened. Shit. I had lost power.
A scream sounded in the distance. It rang out, making my heart rate skyrocket. Something was wrong. The person screamed again, but it got cut off. I could hear my breaths. I covered my mouth to stop the noises.
The woman outside of my house stopped banging. I stopped breathing. Where did she go? Holy shit. Was she finding a new window? Could they think? I had no idea what I was up against. But I knew I’d never survive now that it was nighttime.
The army man said not to go out at night. He said the monsters were worse at night when it was cold. I had to run. Right? I had to go south and find Jean. But I refused to walk around alone. I couldn’t kill something. Could I outrun them?
I had so many fucking questions and zero answers.
Over the next two days, I saw more dead people walking with red eyes. I locked myself in my bedroom and blocked off the windows. I couldn’t handle seeing them anymore. But the boards didn’t stop the screaming and the moaning. The cries cut into my heart—I hated the constant torture. I didn’t want to know what was going on anymore.
A cacophony of explosions rocketed me backwards. There hadn’t been bombings in days now. I hit the maple bookshelf in the dusty corner of my bedroom as I fell back in shock—more my own fault than the actual explosion. My head erupted in searing pain. I cradled my head and pulled my knees into my chest as waves of panic tore through me. I lay there in a ball as the world around me was destroyed—again.
It sounded like a shotgun fired a round near my front door, too close to be from the road. I pushed myself against the bookshelf to hide. The world fell silent. I was paranoid by this point, always expecting an armless man or a crying woman to magically appear in front of me. The monsters would bang on my walls at night sometimes, begging for shelter, but I never opened up.
I almost came out of my ball in the corner of the room, but then sirens wailed in the distance. What sounded like cop cars zoomed through the streets, blaring then fading, like like they went right past my home. Their red and blue lights seeped through the cracks in my boarded windows.
I ran into my living room and found my useless cellphone on the coffee table. If there were cop cars, that must mean that the government was up again—we were winning whatever war this was. I powered on the phone and switched to the radio app. It was mostly static, but one word stood out—anarchy. I powered down my phone, conserving the 10% battery I had left, and walked back to the front window.
I smelled burning human flesh nearby—similar to the smell from the second day as I stepped into the streets. It was a bitter, vile smell, like fat on a grill. I wished I could forget it, but knew it would stay with me for a long time. I couldn’t react. I squeezed my eyes shut harder and tried to count to one hundred without the sounds of screaming forcing me to stop.
As I hit the lucky number one hundred, I peeked through my lashes. Nothing had changed. My house hadn’t succumbed to the mayhem just yet. The crappy one-story home with a rickety front porch had managed to survive another round.
I sat up, rubbing the back of my head, and went into the living room. It had been a struggle to get all the windows boarded since I refused to venture past the kitchen. But I had enough tables and chairs and cardboard boxes to make it work.
Rust coated the bars on Jean’s wrecked fence from years of neglect. Our entire neighborhood still screamed white trash, only now it had taken on a new meaning with ash and rubble coating the cracked streets. The frequent smell of marijuana smoke was now replaced with burning tar.
Before the destruction, I’d spent more nights than not trying to tune out the sounds of dubstep through the paper thin walls. Five guys lived in the house to the right of mine. They’d never stopped partying despite being in their mid-forties.
They’d get out their white beach chairs and park them right on their front lawn. They’d sit with their beer bellies popped out, crack open their blue cooler, and drink until the sun came up. I constantly went to work singing Skrillex lyrics that refused to stop haunting me.
My head would throb from lack of sleep for the first few hours at my desk, only to be replaced by a new headache—one I liked to call the Heimenstein special since only he could grate on my nerves so much so to bring me to physical discomfort.
Now, I wished that I could go back to my biggest worry being those noisy neighbors and my asshole boss. Hell, I’d take moving back into my last foster home over whatever was going on outside my door. That said a lot since there was six of us under the age of sixteen living in a two bedroom trailer with a guy who couldn’t lay off the bong for more than an hour.
More loud gunfire shocked me back to reality. I ran into my bedroom and tripped over the loose carpet I must have messed up over the past few days. I scooted across the wood floor until I was against the wall, then slid towards the closet.
I tried to convince myself the noise was just the old wood creaking. I tried to convince myself that the bang was only the screen opening an inch or two by the wind and then shutting. But what I knew were footsteps got closer and closer to my bedroom, and I couldn’t convince myself otherwise.
Creak—another footstep, this time just outside of my bedroom walls. I rolled backwards into the closet and pushed myself until my back was flush against the wall, clothes hanging above me, whipping me in the face. In that moment, I wished I had left the door hanging instead of using it for a scream-blocker on the windows.
I covered my mouth with my hands, worried my ragged breaths would be a beacon for the intruders. A warm tear trickled down my face, stopping at the dam my pointer finger made below my nose. I didn’t wipe it away.
“Make sure you clear it.”
The door to my bedroom slammed open. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold in my scream. Crumbles from the wall clicked like rainbow sprinkles to the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut harder, not wanting to face whoever was there. If I could have stopped my heart from beating, I would have. Everything inside of me tensed until I was a wound ball of nerves.
The same deep, gruff voice mumbled something I couldn’t understa
nd as he stomped through my bedroom. His steps sounded as if he was wearing combat boots, each louder than the next. He huffed under his breath; even his exhale sounded angry. I heard joints cracking as he bent down. He became oddly quiet, and I fought the urge to look out from the veil of my closet.
“I swear I have to do everything myself.”
My bed creaked, and a foot shuffled. I faintly smelled something sour and bitter, like sweat and vodka, but it was too close to be the man near the bed. I struggled to hold back a sob. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I never had an easy hand in life, and an invasion wouldn’t change my luck. His boots got closer. The clothes above me swayed, a soft wind trickled over my face. I couldn’t move, refused to open my eyes. I thought I might puke.
“You didn’t think we’d leave you?” It was a new voice. Arms wrapped around my shoulders, and two more hands got my legs as they dragged me through the clothes. I screamed, kicking and flailing my limbs, attempting to free myself.
“Let go!” I yelled.
“We’ve got a live one!” the man chuckled, and two more sets of feet came towards me, heavy and strong, pounding—thum thum, thum thum, thum thum.
“She sure is pretty.” The new voice was deep and wicked, kind of melodic. Goose bumps prickled down my arms and up my spine. I screamed again as he lifted me in the air. I tried to memorize the man’s face, but before I knew it, a calloused hand covered my eyes. I only caught blue eyes and a sad frown.
The hands that smelled like sewage slid a scratchy blindfold over my eyes. His movements were hard, needy with each brush against me like he’d never had human contact before. He fumbled around near my head, his fingers digging into the skin on the back of my neck. My stomach twisted in knots. They were taking me. My life was over. What was this all for?
I didn’t fear my life anymore. Instead, I feared what they would do if they let me live. They could just be looters, but I doubted that was their only goal. The way they touched my body reminded me of a foster “brother” I had at age sixteen: he got aggressive, until I framed him for assault—which wasn’t hard since he snuck into my bedroom almost nightly trying to cop a feel—and got myself out of there. I listened for a female voice as they probed and inspected me, praying someone would take mercy on me.
The Last Legacy (Season 1): Episodes 1-10 Page 2
