Transplanted

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I imagine the same could be said about this place. A desert of reddish-orange rolls on for what seems like an eternity. Flattened earth with swirling dust clouds, this is my daily view. Today is day six in this joke of a reality, and before that, details are hazy.

I sat happily on one of the ancient stools at Nana's counter, watching her work, basking in the scent of her baking the usual Sunday treats. She wasn’t preparing them for anyone in particular, just whoever she happened to see on her Monday morning errand run. She’d carefully place a few cookies in each plastic baggie and bring them with her during her rounds. Our town had been so ordinary then. It was a truly peaceful place consisting of streets lined with cookie-cutter houses all some similar variation of Nana’s. Laughter could be heard from the park nearby that was constantly occupied by children playing and riding bikes all hours of the day. A strong sense of community meant that people looked after one another and felt secure in their mundane routines. This was a place where I was constantly fighting off boredom and dreaming I could be whisked away into some whirlwind adventure like the characters in the books I read. Until that day. There was no time to panic, and no time to run. All was silent and still and ordinary, and then it wasn’t. Screams broke that silence and brought my attention to the window near the sink. Nana’s eyes briefly met mine before we both rushed to the window to see what the source was. The street was quiet as we stared through the glass, eyes darting about, surveying the area. A silver sedan came into view, creeping slowly down the pavement. The man driving seemed to be looking for something, his gaze to the sky. We were startled when, like lightning, a small softball-sized orb shot toward the car, and with an intense flash, the driver was gone. The car kept rolling forward before smashing into the neighbor’s parked truck, setting off the airbags and a blaring alarm. “What’s going on?”, I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the car. “Call for help,” Nana said to me calmly. “We need to make sure they’re okay.” In my mind, I knew that they weren’t okay. The man literally vanished or disintegrated into nothingness. I felt her gaze on me, waiting, so I picked up my cell phone to appease her and dialed emergency services. I put the phone to my ear and waited for it to ring or for an operator to pick up, but there was nothing on the other end. I had never had to call 911 and didn’t know what to expect, but I knew that dead air wasn’t normal. I glanced down at the screen. “I have no bars. No service.” Nana rushed over to her landline phone and started dialing. She too was met with silence. She placed the phone on the receiver and picked it up again, but no dial tone could be heard. She walked around the counter, and without saying a word proceeded to the backdoor. I was dumbfounded and terrified, and I wanted to stay right there in that cozy little kitchen. My whole body tingled and my heart began to race as I realized she was serious about going outside. Ears ringing, I felt on the verge of a panic attack, but I couldn’t let her go out there alone. I ran to her and put my hand on the door to stop it. “I don’t think we should go out there. We have no idea what’s happening.” She looked at me with soft green eyes, and it occurred to me how frail she had become over the last few years. Her eyes now shrouded by bags still had their same life and sparkle, but her frame was no longer plump, and loose skin covered her arms and hands. She placed her soft palm on my face as she spoke. “You stay here. I’ll make sure everything is fine.” She dropped her hand and gently moved mine out of the way. As if reading my mind, she reassured me with “I’ll be fine.” Before I could uncloud my mind to react, the storm door popped open and she sauntered out with all of the speed she could muster from her 80-year-old bones. She stepped off of the porch and made her way onto the pathway before slowing to look around, and then, just like the man, she was gone. A flash of light, and nothing remained. No dust, no ash, just emptiness in the space where she had stood. I was frozen in the doorway. Another blinding flash burned into my eyes, and I tried to jerk my head away, using my hand as a shield. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as they started to sting and water. The air seemed thin, and I couldn’t orient myself properly. The dizziness overcame me as the world tilted by into blackness.

Six days had passed since I woke up on the floor of Nana’s kitchen. There was confusion and then there was grief. It felt like a fever-dream, and I couldn’t remove the heavy layer of fog from my mind. I laid there on my back, staring at the popcorn ceiling in the dim light. I sat up slowly and gazed off into the enclosed porch area where the door was now closed. I grabbed the edge of the counter and slowly pulled myself to my feet. I felt groggy and still didn’t trust the steadiness of my legs. The curtains were drawn over the window, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to change that. I stood there for what felt like an eternity with my thoughts drifting away from me. Eventually I forced my feet to move and made my way over to the sink. I lifted the bottom edge of the curtain and tilted my head to peek out of the tiny gap. More confused than before, I pulled open the curtains, taking in my introduction to this desolate place. Not an ounce of green was in sight, and instead the light reflected off the compact, orange soil that stretched all the way to the horizon. No park, no trees, no roads, only sandy soil remained. My mind was still not functioning at full-capacity, and I honestly had no energy to try and process all that had just taken place. I walked over to the back door, afraid of what I might find on the other side. I thought of my frail grandmother and how she had charged out there with no hesitation to check on her neighbors. Now here I stood, full of fear, unable to budge. My hand moved before my brain could stop it. I turned the handle and eased the door open slightly. Nothing but that sandy expanse was visible through the storm door. I was thankful that there were no bodies, but there wouldn’t be, would there? My mind was pulled back to those moments, to the vanishing of that man and of dear Nana. They were caught completely off-guard, we all were.

A gust of wind whipped by me as I pushed open the storm door, bringing with it a sulfuric smell like rotting eggs. I slipped out in a hunched position, expecting a bolt of lightning to zap me or beam me up. I couldn’t shake the unease as I remained focused on the sky. Taking a few carefully-placed steps forward, I pulled my eyes back to the earth and scanned my surroundings. I desperately searched for any familiar landmarks of the block, but the house stood alone. The grogginess began to fade as my adrenaline ramped up and anxiety set in. I stepped back toward the house, still facing the expanse, bracing for the unknown. In the distance, a spot of darkness appeared to be breaking through the dust. My eyes were still sensitive, and I tried harder to define the shape. I thought it could be a small tree, but the outline seemed to be changing. Then it hit me, it wasn’t changing, it was moving. I didn’t realize that I’d been backing up the entire time, and I jumped as my back slammed into the glass door causing it to rattle. I snapped my head back toward the figure that was now maybe 20 yards away. The wind had picked up and visibility had quickly worsened. Still, a humanoid silhouette could obviously be seen, and it was making its way straight for me.