The Remnant

The stench of sulfur filled what was left of fresh air as the remaining bodies continued to burn while we hid, choking on our fear of what’s to come for the few of us who are now the Remnant. Golden rays broke through the thin plywood pieces covering the windows of the daylight basement. This place below the ground once held standing-room-only parties where the smells from the grill made you hungry even if you had eaten before you came, and the music took you back to the moment you fell in love, no matter how many times. We laughed during dance-offs and cheered during football season. We made room for family and loved ones here. The summers were good, but the falls were nothing short of amazing. We enjoyed thousands of fall sunsets and autumn moons right under the covered deck just through the French doors that were now barricaded behind broken pieces of plywood, a table, and a few chairs stacked about eight feet high. We had no idea what was left of the outside. We’ve been down here so long, we’ve lost track of time. What happens when the sun decides to stop setting? We have no idea when to sleep without night. The screams have stopped, at least the human ones have. We occasionally hear these archaic wails that sound like the dinosaurs from the classic prehistoric world movies. The only difference is these pterodactyl-like creatures are a thousand times louder.

We’ve sat here in hiding, motionless, hungry and afraid. It’s funny how the what would you do if you were the only person left on Earth game is now a real-life strategy planning session for the seven of us in this space beneath the ground. I look around the dimly lit room at my friends and wonder when and how we will die. The thought of it is just too much to bear at the moment. I let my right-hand rest on my chest for my routine check. I feel movement. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. I’m still breathing. I slowly walk my fingers to space just below my neck. My fingers trace the heart-shaped locket. I close my eyes and remember what life was like before everything changed. It hurts to breathe, and now it hurts to remember. I sit quietly and wait for the limited air to fill my lungs. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. I pray for sleep, but it never comes.

I open my eyes. My back is against the wall, and it hurts to lift my head. My body aches from crawling around and using hand movements to communicate with the rest of the souls trapped here. We are afraid to speak aloud or stand upright. We fear the noise will attract unwanted attention to our hideaway, and we can’t afford that, whether human or inhuman, at this point. Our supplies are low. We’re now rationing club cracker packets that came with the Cobb salads that Dana and I ordered as we decorated the upper and lower decks with colorful Japanese lanterns.

Dana is the sister I never had growing up. From the day we exchanged animal crackers and chips at the community pool, we’ve been inseparable. It’s hard to believe two seven-year-olds made it through elementary, middle and high school.

We did separate when it was time for college. Dana’s parents could afford to send her wherever she wanted to go. She chose NYU, and the fact that we were from Georgia didn’t matter to her or her dad’s wallet. I wasn’t so fortunate in the fortune department. I had a partial scholarship to the University of Georgia, and the state-funded HOPE scholarship did all the rest. It was a long four years, but we made it. I had a biochemistry degree, and Dana studied information technology. Dana was super smart and could have earned three degrees at once if she wanted, but the chemical engineering turned mathematics turned information technology majors led her to a biotechnology company that paid well. I didn’t do so bad myself as one of the youngest directors in a pharmaceutical research firm. Soon money wouldn’t be an issue for either of us. We bought big houses, had lots of friends, traveled to fabulous destinations and enjoyed socializing.

Our last house party was a promotion celebration for my neighbor. Jo and her husband, Jay, were living the young, married life dream - great jobs, big families and no kids. They were the aunt and uncle of every kid’s dream, and they had plenty of nieces and nephews to spoil. They always joked that no one pressured them about having children because their siblings had 23 children between the two families, 13 on Jo’s side and 10 on Jay’s. We had the bounce houses and scavenger hunts ready to go before it happened. Their families never made it to our house. Jo’s facial expression hasn’t changed since we’ve been holed up here. She just sits, eyes cast down and fixated on nothing. Her long, dark hair shrouds her face like a dark cloak around a pale, mysterious figure. I always thought Jo could pass for a younger, less ethnic-looking Cher with straight hair evenly split down the middle and past her shoulders. She was strikingly beautiful. Jay was about three inches shy of tall and a shade off from dark, but he nailed the handsome part. If life-of-the-party were a person, it would be Jay. His athletic build, earned on the gridiron in college, remained intact enough to turn the ladies’ heads. Jay wore a military-style crew cut that downplayed the flecks of gray in his mostly black hair. He was sexy yet unassuming. A nice, country boy who stayed out of the mirror enough to never realize how delightful he was. His eyes are filled with worry – worry for his wife, worry for his family and worry for us all as time betrayed us.

I met Donny, Cyrus and Wes moments before it happened. They arrived about thirty minutes after Jay and Jo and announced themselves as his single co-workers looking for good food and strong drinks. I laughed when I welcomed them in and invited them to make themselves at home. Part of me is glad that they were here to help us stay level-headed as we gathered up necessary supplies and boarded up what we could with what we had. I’m glad that Jay invited them to come over early to help get things set up. They’ve been changing guard duty at the top of the stairs since this started or since everything ended. I don’t know what to call this situation we’re in anymore. I know they must be worried about their families or real friends. I couldn’t imagine being trapped in a basement with people I barely know for what may be the last moments I have left.

Remembrance

We turned up the sound to hear the evening weather report. There was a thirty percent chance of rain earlier that day, and we wanted to be sure our backup plan would accommodate the children and the adults comfortably. Dana tested the outdoor Bluetooth speakers to make sure our party music was loud enough both inside and outside. Jay was firing up the grill, and Donny and Cyrus were hauling in a motherload of every beer, liquor and chaser you could imagine. Wes, a self-proclaimed shade-tree chef, was helping Jo in the kitchen. I first noticed that the tv was flickering. Then, a few moments later, all the music went silent. We thought it might be a Wi-Fi issue or an overloaded circuit of some sort. But then the TV abruptly shut off.

As we stood there, the sun seemed to fully eclipse, and everything was covered in shadows. It was like putting on a pair of dark brown shades under a black-laced veil. I have never seen colors like that. We all hurried outside to see exactly what was happening. My other neighbors followed suit in search of the same thing. For about half an hour, we all tried to get a cellphone signal, but nothing worked. Our cars wouldn’t start, so tuning into the radio was out of the question. Soon there were murmurings of a possible alien invasion or pending nuclear war. Then, we thought we heard thunder in the distance, but there wasn’t a mention of pending storms or a solar eclipse. The scientist in me searched for plausible reasons for what was happening, but there was this gnawing ache in my stomach that knew science would soon fail me. The last thing I remember was a lightning bolt as wide as the Lincoln Memorial streaked across the sky before blowing the earth open. Everything shook underneath our feet as we scrambled back into our houses. Some of my neighbors stayed out in the street to investigate which direction the fires from the bolt were headed. We watched through the windows as the future met the past while we watched in shock and fear. There appeared to be flying saucers pouring out of the clouds by the thousands. They were coming from all directions, firing laser-like beams. That’s when we knew we were under attack. As some of my neighbors started to run, these flying dragon-like creatures began wailing and snatching up men, women, and children with these massively long claws. They continued to fly with bodies impaled on their talons.