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A Prison of Solitude

The real Cloverfield sequel, a fan fiction, with inspiration from 10 Cloverfield Lane.

By Jack MellorPublished 7 years ago 4 min read
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Waking in the desolation of darkness, I stared about me with intense curiosity. At the very same moment, a lightbulb flashed on, then off for a second, then returned, to fill the room with a warm glow.

Like a tired old dog, I sluggishly began to move about and explore my surroundings with what little space I had to work with, trying to remember in the deep abyss of my mind how I came here.

I think.

Yes, I remembered now. The news had been full of the accounts coming from the Eastern seaboard, that New York had come under attack from some unknown creature, and that a nuclear detonation had been observed in that region, and that one of the creatures had been destroyed. Reports were flooding in, much to the dismay of the reporters on air, that more of these unearthly terrors had been spotted emerging from the sea, striding inland, unaffected by whatever military action was taken against their advance. Not taking any chances, I packed whatever valuables I could take into a small bag, and exited my apartment in Arlington, Virginia.

There was my name, Sarah Michael, posted on the wall. Hurriedly checking myself out, I went into the street.

The place was in uproar, the roads crowded with people pouring en masse out of DC westward, a car overturned here, a group of looters rioting a shop window there. There was no order, no orderly manners to anyone. One of the greatest countries in the world, in the space of a few hours, turned on its head by an unknown menace that threatened us all with annihilation.

Heading into the apartment garage, my car was still there, untouched by the chaos in the streets, and after the difficulty of manoeuvring through the river of people on the street, struck onto Interstate 66 heading south west, but the interstate was packed with vehicles moving at a glacial pace, so at Fairfax I struck onto Route 50, and so I escaped out of that pandemonium that gripped the metropolitan areas.

Passing the overwhelmed and packed Dulles, I felt like the worst was over. I guessed no one had bothered to use this road...or so I thought at first. As I approached an area called Gilberts Corner, in sight of what I could only assume were the Blue Ridge Mountains, I was suddenly caught unaware by a violent crash, that threw me off the road, crashing amongst the bushes and trees. The last thing I heard was a distant and menacing roar before a shadow came over the car and I blacked out...

That was the story of how I came to be there, that came back to me slowly in scattered fragments with which I pieced together.

As my vision improved, I could begin to make out the room I had found myself in. Concrete, about 20 feet long by 15 feet wide, with a large metal door in the corner, and a desk in the other. In a third corner, was a spiral staircase, that seemed to go up into the roof of the place.

Standing up slowly, using the wall as support, I made my way over to the stairs. The stairs travelled about 30 feet up into a more open room, through which more light flooded in. Limping up the spiral, I emerged into a kind of lookout point, through which I could see the farther country. It was at a stunned glance, hellishly unfamiliar.

The bunker I had found myself in, was buried deep into a hill, hidden from the view of the road. For as far as the eye could see the fields were blackened, as if charred by fire, and not a living thing, be it man or common animal was to be seen. Upon the horizon, standing small and faint, the smokey ruins about Washington DC could be distinguished, and the splintered Washington Monument stood in amongst the rubble. And hidden in the smoke, and less discernible, huge black figures writhed among the debris, silhouetted against the distant sky.

As I looked upon this vista of apocalyptic proportions, I felt faint at the thought of how swiftly that desolation had come about, how quickly those things overthrew our little world, to become the dominant species at the very top of the food chain. Out there, my fellow men were crawling among the ruins of humanity, struggling with every movement and every breath to survive. I felt powerless, trapped in this prison, unable to do anything but watch as the world ended about me. I couldn't just watch, I wanted to do something!

With renewed strength, I raised back down the spiralling stairs and over to the door, and tugged for all my life.

It was locked...from the outside!

This place really was a prison, a prison of solitude, cut off from the rest of the world, and I sat down, with my back to the iron, my strength and determination gone. All alone, I began to cry.

This was my tomb, and very likely my grave...

...and then came a polite knock on the door.

fan fiction
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About the Creator

Jack Mellor

Aspiring actor in the UK, and growing movie buff.

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