Beginning of the End

I screamed, my voice raw, the sound of it lost amongst the wailing rising around me. I stumbled out into the street, blankets wrapped around my shoulders and trailing on the ground behind me, the door wide open behind me. Pieces littered the street-of what, I didn’t want to think about. I slipped in something warm and wet, and refused to look down as my stomach roiled. I kept screaming, but I couldn’t even hear my own voice. Branches blocked the end of the street, the ground mostly frozen and slick beneath my toes. The sky was still gray, the remnants

of whatever horror had passed through overnight still visible.

“Ernest!” I screamed again, my voice cracking painfully in my throat. “Dany!” I went through all the names of my family, but no one answered. No familiar dark hair amongst the neighbors heads of varying shades of brown and blonde. I even tried calling for the cats. Someone’s dog ran by, loose and barking. The neighbor to our right’s dog. The neighbors who always blocked the street off completely so their kids could play.

A face caught my eye, staring blankly up at me from the ground. No one I recognized, but I doubled over, my stomach protesting. I sucked bitterly cold air through my clenched teeth, willing the contents to stay put.

I stumbled and staggered my way to the end of the street, looking up and down the intersection to see unending carnage strewn over every lawn, over the corn fields across the main street just outside the neighborhood. I didn’t see anyone familiar. Standing or on the ground. A deep emptiness settled into my bones for a moment before I turned and shuffled back to the house, closing the door behind me as I dropped the blankets and stripped on my way to the shower, leaving a pile of soggy, stained clothes just outside the door. I showered quickly, drying off before bundling up in many layers. I kept my phone on hand, dialing numbers on rotation. Husband, his parents, his siblings, my parents, my siblings. My friends. No one ever picked up.

Once bundled up, I packed a backpack. Change of clothes, meds, food, water, identification. Essentials. I forced myself to eat something, anything, small, even if it tasted like ash on my tongue. Slipped a flashlight into the pack. Chargers, spare batteries. Locked the door behind me.

Pack in the passenger seat. Seat belt. Start the car. I realized too late that the branches still blocked the end of the road and sat there, feeling stupid and alone. Hot shame washed through me.

A few neighbors had started walking around with guns. I had a small pocketknife I usually kept in my purse. I got back out of the car, running through my conversations from yesterday in my head. Doctor’s office, scheduling appointments. Boss, about my work schedule. My husband had been working. Our conversations had been normal, discussing possible house purchases and vacation plans. No one had said anything weird. Except me. I flinched, shoving the memory of my harsh words down. Those wouldn’t be my last words to him. They couldn’t. I wouldn’t let them.

Shots rang out, and I scrambled free of the car, my pack catching until I ripped it free, slamming the door shut and sprinting back to the house. I keyed in the code and slammed the door behind me before running for the basement. I didn’t know how long I had before the looting started. I didn’t know anything. I tried to pull up the news, but still couldn’t find anything more recent than just before midnight last night. Whatever had happened…this was huge. And I suddenly fervently wished I lived in a time…any time, other than this.