|
||
Her gaze went immediately to the windows.
Seeing the bright sunlight, and the lack of magazine pages not taped
over them, Emlee knew she was back in the past. Just how far back, and
when in time she’d arrived, remained a temporary mystery.
Hurrying over to the
kitchen, she saw the cases of water were gone. She threw open the pantry
to find the lone bottle of water and can of ravioli, as well as the
envelope with his letter to her.
She stared at it,
stunned. Mykail had already left. She hadn’t reappeared before they’d
met, as she’d halfway hoped. They’d already had their day and night
together, and he’d departed after she’d disappeared.
“How long ago did he
leave? He said he waited all day for me to come back. What time is it?
What day is it now?”
She thought back on
what she’d told him. She remembered when the initial scout ships came,
one was blown out of the sky, and that’s how the world came to see their
first Tlok. That was Saturday night.
“The motherships
arrived Sunday, and that’s when they started firing at us.”
She glanced outside,
at where the sunlight was shining brightly. It couldn’t be Saturday, or
else Mykail would be here. Which meant it either had to be Sunday, or
sometime after the attacks.
How much grace time did we have before
the aliens attacked us? Was it late morning or early afternoon?
It was difficult to
remember, but she thought it was late morning. She’d been sleeping in
and had been awakened by the sound of loud explosions.
Emlee stopped to
listen. So far she couldn’t hear any explosions. Nor could she hear the
sound of sirens, or people screaming, or gunshots. It was a quiet and
peaceful Sunday morning.
So far.
“I need to get out of
here now before it all comes down. My boots. Where are my boots?”
She knew she’d left
them by the bed. Relief washed through her when she spotted them sitting
where she’d left them. Mykail must have realized she might need them if
and when she returned. Ignoring the fact that it was necessary to wear
socks with them, she quickly slid them on and tightened the straps.
She’d worry about socks later. Hopefully, she wouldn’t suffer too many
blisters in the meantime. It was imperative she get to the marina, and
as quickly as possible. With any luck, she’d arrive at Pier C to find
Mykail there, either waiting for her or not yet departed. Hopefully
both.
“I need to arm
myself.” Hell may not have erupted yet, but it wouldn’t be long before
it did. Once the aliens started firing on them, people would become
hysterical. Their sense of self-preservation would kick in to the point
where they’d attack anyone whom they deemed dangerous. They would try to
flee, stealing anything that ran if they didn’t have their own vehicle.
They would kill without hesitation. Common sense would be the first
thing tossed out the window. But the few who managed to retain their
cool, who observed and acted when the right moment presented itself,
those people would become the last survivors. They would win the
ultimate lottery, and be the ones who’d live to see the result of their
world turned upside-down.
She knew because she’d
been one of those sober-minded people.
“Boots, check. Now I
need a weapon. Poker, poker. Where’d I leave the poker? Oh, yeah.
Upstairs. I threw it away before the police came.” It wouldn’t be too
difficult to find. She vaguely recalled where she’d been when she’d
tossed it away. “I’ll take that with me.”
She checked the room a
final time before heading up the stairs. “Is there anything else I need
to take with me? Am I forgetting anything?” She patted her pocket to
reassure herself that the thumb drive was there.
Her eyes lit on the
pantry, its doors left wide open. The bottle of water and can of ravioli
called to her, letting her know she hadn’t eaten anything since the
night before. Past experience had taught her she needed to eat every
chance she got. To never let an opportunity to fill her belly go by,
because it could be days before her next meal. Same for safe-to-drink
water.
As loud as her
internal alarms were sounding, urging her to get out of there, she
reined them in. “No eat, no energy. Simple as that,” she commented,
going over and reaching for the can.
This time the tab
opened as it was designed to do. Within seconds, Emlee felt the
container’s sides grow warm to the touch as the internal heating
elements did their job. Taking a fork from the utensil drawer, she ate.
She leaned against the
stove as she forced herself to chew her food, rather than bolt it down.
The continued silence around her became unnerving, and curiosity made
her wonder about the latest news. “At least it’ll let me know what time
of day it is. Television, on!”
The screen brightened,
and the first thing she saw was the definitive shape of a mothership.
Shoveling another ravioli into her mouth, she listened attentively to
the newsman. She’d never heard this part of history, as she hadn’t been
watching the TV or listening to any broadcasts when it all came down the
first time.
“—these obviously
bigger and more powerful spaceships,” the man announced. The guy’s face
was noticeably several shades paler, and it was clear he was fighting to
keep his voice from shaking. “Repeated attempts by our military to
establish communications with the aliens have gone unanswered. President
Cho of China, Prime Minister Sisslebean of the UK, and President
Chyevsky of Russia all confirm that their countries are seeing many of
these same space crafts, mostly the smaller and faster versions,
hovering over their major cities. Luckily, however, there have been no
overt hostile moves made by these creatures, which President McInerny
says is surprising, considering the fact that one of those smaller ships
was shot down late yesterday afternoon.”
“Don’t worry, fella.
They’re going to hit us back any minute now,” Emlee murmured.
A swooshing noise,
followed by the words NEWS ALERT, came on the screen. A different
newsman appeared, looking just as scared as the first guy.
“This just in! The
president has declared martial law for the entire United States! All
citizens are advised to return to their homes immediately, and all shops
and stores close their doors. No businesses will be allowed to be open
after three p.m. eastern time. Martial law will remain in effect until
further notice. I repeat, the president has declared martial law—”
The TV went dark. The
central air shut off, and the lights went out. At the same time, Emlee
heard the first faint rumbles in the distance. The ones that sounded
like thunder, but which she knew had nothing to do with the weather.
Stuffing the last bite
into her mouth, she dropped the empty can and fork into the sink, and
ran for the stairs. The first blast came just as she reached the top
step. It knocked her against the wall, where she bounced off, lost her
footing, and slipped down a couple of steps before she managed to
recover.
Another explosion,
this one closer, made the whole house shake. Getting to her feet, she
grabbed the door knob and turned it, when a third blast sent shockwaves
through her. Stunned, she fell sideways and tumbled to the foot of the
stairs.
Outside, vehicle
alarms went off, shrill and penetrating. Emlee tried to get to her feet,
but her knee gave her fits. Pain shot up her leg and into her hip, and
she cried out as she used the wall to get back up on her feet.
Something detonated
almost directly overhead, above the subdivision. Or maybe it just
sounded that way. But it acted like a massive hammer, slamming down on
the Earth. Emlee was thrown to the floor as the backlash acted like a
vise, squeezing her flat to the point where she couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but gasp for air. A tremendous crash
came from above her, and she threw her arms up over her head in case the
ceiling gave way. Instead, she was showered with a fine blanket of dust
as the pressure suddenly eased.
Dazed, she gave
herself a moment to come to grips with herself. Grabbing the wall again,
she was able to stand and slowly limp up the stairs. Twisting the door
knob, she tried to open the door, but something was blocking it,
preventing it from swinging outward.
She stared in shock at
the doorframe as the truth of her situation became clear. The ceiling
and roof of the house had caved in, exactly the way she’d found it six
years later. But this time she was trapped inside the basement
apartment. Leaving her with little or no option of escape.
|
-
.