Dust to Dust: An Apocalyptic Thriller
AN APOCALYPTIC THRILLER
BRIDGET BUNDY
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Bundy
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic methods, mechanical devices, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
Any references to historical/real person(s), places, and/or events are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, and/or places are the products of the author’s imagination.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DAY ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
DAY TWO
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
DAY THREE
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
DAY FOUR
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
DAY FIVE
39
40
41
42
43
DAY SIX
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
DAY SEVEN
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
DAY EIGHT
58
59
DAY ONE
C H A P T E R
1
Richmond, Virginia
“Kris!”
Sitting up in bed, I look around. My brother Michael is wide awake and wild-eyed, literally in my face. Not ready to get up, I lay back down. He’s always ruining a good thing, and this time it’s my sleep.
“Wake up,” he says. “We have to get going!”
Before I can say anything, he dashes out of the room. I throw the covers off and rub my eyes. The morning came too fast. Glancing over at the alarm clock, I notice it reads 6:30 in the morning. Oh shit! I’m supposed to be at work by seven. I must have set the time for PM instead of AM.
In a mad rush, I grab my cell phone on the way to the bathroom. I throw on the hot water in the shower and brush my teeth. Typically, I take forty-five minutes on my morning routine. It’s a special time to prepare for a stressful, long day, but I have to cut the time short.
After I’m out of the shower and drying off, I put the cell phone on speaker and dial Natalie, my boss. She doesn’t answer. That woman stays on the phone. I can call her at three in the morning, and she’ll answer the first ring. I press her number again.
“Hello!” she answers loudly.
“Natalie, I am so sorry! I’m going to be a little bit late. Give me no later than…”
“Kris, don’t worry about coming in today.”
“I’m in traffic.” I cringe at the lie.
She yells at her kids to close the door. Her husband tells her something, but I don’t understand and can barely hear him.
“Natalie?” I remark, hoping to regain her attention. “I’ll be there any minute.”
She continues to speak to her husband. Then the phone call disconnects. What the hell!? I call her back immediately, but the line has a fast busy signal. I keep trying, but I can’t get through. That’s strange.
“Kris!” Michael calls from the living room.
“What!” For some odd reason, my brother annoys me. I want something to go right, and nothing seems to be working out the way I want.
“You need to pack your stuff!”
“WHY!”
“WHAT!”
“Why do I have to pack my stuff?”
“WHAT!”
“REALLY, MICHAEL! WE’RE GOING TO DO THIS NOW!”
“HUH!”
He wins. I give up.
I put on a cream shirt and a pink skirt, along with matching pink high heels. It was my Friday outfit, but who cares. No one will notice.
I check the time on my cell. The display reads a quarter till seven. My job is thirty minutes away, forty-five in lousy traffic. More than likely, rush hour will be horrible. In this city, most of the time it is. I hurry out of my room, grabbing my purse on the way. As I’m about to enter the kitchen, I notice that Michael is staring at me as I slip and nearly fall on the linoleum floor.
“You better not laugh,” I threaten him.
“Where are you going looking like that?”
Such a dumb question. “To work,” I answer.
I grab a coffee cup from the cabinet. I dropped mine yesterday as I was about to sit at my desk. I wasn’t watching where I was placing it, and it fell, creating a ruckus that gained the attention of everyone in the office. I was disappointed. The square cup was unique and had the slogan: ‘You’re Cute After Coffee’ in a fancy font on one side. The O’s had hearts in the center. It always made me smile, even if I was having a bad day.
“You can’t go to work,” Michael says.
“Why not?”
He points at the TV.
“I don’t have time. I’m already late.”
“No, seriously, something’s going on.”
A spaceship takes up most of the flat screen. According to the voiceover, hundreds of them are positioned around the Earth.
“Record the movie,” I reply, “and I’ll watch it when I get home.”
“Do not walk out of this apartment,” Michael says.
Rarely to never have I followed his orders, and I don’t plan on doing it now. As I try for the door, he blocks the path.
“Move out of the way.”
“It’s real, Kris. You need to sit and listen.” From the seriousness in his expression, I can tell he’s not kidding.
Willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, I take a seat and give the correspondent my undivided attention.
“The Virginia governor has asked citizens not to bog down the emergency lines about the unidentified flying objects,” he says. “All officials up to the Federal Government is aware, and they are handling the situation. Please, heed all warnings from your state and local authorities.”
I glance at Michael. His arms converge over his chest, and he’s holding the remote. Behind him in the corner, I notice for the first time that his suitcase and rucksack are packed. His gun and ammo are on the table.
“Now,” the man continues, regaining my attention, “if you’re just joining us, let me catch you up to speed. At exactly 2:22 AM this morning, hundreds of unidentified flying objects appeared in the Earth’s orbit. As far as we know, the United States and many other nations have tried to communicate with the extraterrestrial visitors, but they have not succeeded. Government officials believe there are two possibilities for their silence. One: the aliens do not understand the multilingual greetings sent to them. Two: they understand at least one of the languages but refuse to answer. No one knows for sure.”
“Oh, I know,” Michael chimes in. “They refuse to answer.”
“Due to the uncertainties of their arrival, authorities request that all United States citizens remain calm and stay indoors.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” Michae
l replies.
“Now, if you’ll watch your television screen, we’re about to show you actual photographs and videos of the UFOs. We acquired them from verified sources. Make no mistake, the images you are about to see are real.”
The reporter keeps talking as each picture appear. Some are not so clear, while others I can see fine details. The ships have rivets and piping, and all of them look like flying cruise ships except they’re grey and black. He calls them Octeres because they mimic ancient warships. The significant difference is the oars; the spaceships don’t have any. Videos show that their hulls have tiny lights zipping along the shell. Iridescent squares on the body illuminate and darken. There are no exhausts and no windows - unless portions of the hull is a two-way mirror. Believed to be approximately 342,200 gross tonnages, the vessels are said to be twice as big as the largest cruise ship in the world.
Michael’s cell phone rings. Its louder than the TV. He answers immediately. He listens and responds. The conversation is surprisingly short, making me wonder who just called.
“Who was it?” I ask.
“I need you to pack.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Nobody. Please, Kris, do as I say.”
“For what?”
“We’re leaving Richmond.”
“Where are we going?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
“What? No, I don’t think so. I have a job here. So do you. We can’t just up and leave and not come back.”
“By the end of the day, our jobs won’t exist.”
Sighing, I reply, “I don’t want to leave.”
“We don’t have a choice. We stay here, we die.”
“You know, the news said that we should not be out there.”
“Yep, and we’re not listening to that part.”
“This is crazy, Michael.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sis. Now, get packed! And don’t bring your whole closet.”
“Fine,” I reply, frustrated, “but we’re stopping in Ashburn.”
“No way, Sis. Not happening.”
“Gabe is up there.”
“I don’t care where he is.”
“It’s not out of the way.”
“Kris…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Michael’s cell phone rings again. While snapping his fingers at me, he answers it. I get the message loud and clear. He wants me to pack.
I change into shorts and a t-shirt. Then I pack three casual outfits, pajamas, socks, and underwear. An extra pair of tennis shoes is always a must, so I throw those in the suitcase too. In the bathroom, I toss deodorant, lotion, toothbrush, and toothpaste into a cosmetic bag. Back in my bedroom, I look around and think about what I could be forgetting. Last minute packing isn’t the best thing to do for a trip.
Screaming startles me. The sound comes from the living room. I also hear a reporter frantically speaking over the noise. With too many voices at once, I don’t understand what she’s saying. I rush to the living room.
On screen, there’s a corrugated cylindrical rod sticking out of the asphalt. A black orb floats above it. People surround the strange device but keep a wide girth. The top half of the rod slowly begins to rotate. The ball and bottom half remain still. Fearing what it might do, onlookers run or back away. The reporter holds her ground, relentlessly describing the object in the tornado of panic around her.
“What is that thing?” I ask Michael.
“A weapon, possibly.”
My cell phone rings. It’s Gabe. I go back to my room to talk in private and where the noise isn’t as loud.
“Hello!” I cover my other ear so I can hear him better. “Gabe! Are you okay?”
“I’m good, Krissy. I’m good. Where are you?”
“At home. Are you seeing what’s going on?”
“Yes, it’s incredible. I hope you stayed at home.”
“I did.”
“Good. As soon as I can, I’m coming to you.”
“Michael and I are getting ready to leave, and we’re going to stop by and pick you up.”
“You’re leaving Richmond right now?”
“Probably in the next half hour.”
“That’s a bad idea. You guys need to wait. They’re telling everyone to stay off the roads.”
“He’s already made up his mind.”
“Put your brother on the phone.”
“Hold on.” I hurry into the living room and hand Michael the phone.
“Who is it?” he asks.
“Gabe.”
“What does he want?”
“To talk to you. He doesn’t want us to leave.”
“It’s not up to him.”
Gabe yells for Michael to take the phone, but my brother ignores him.
“Oh my god!” the reporter screams.
A high-pitched pulse emits from the floating orb. The picture becomes unsteady, then fades to black. The anchorman in the newsroom is back on the air, but he's too horrified to speak.
I put the cell to my ear and say, “Gabe, something’s going on. Are you still watching the news?”
The TV abruptly goes dark. My phone dies at the same time.
“Gabe! Hello! Can you hear me? Gabe!”
Michael checks his phone. Then, he shows it to me. It’s dead also. As I desperately press every button and tap the screen on my cell, I beg for it to respond. Nothing works, even yelling at it is a wasted effort.
I look at Michael, who’s genuinely concerned. One thing I know without a doubt is that if he’s worried, I better be worried too.
C H A P T E R
2
The loft shakes from an explosion. Michael throws open the curtains in the living room. I peek out from behind him. On the banks of the James River is a helicopter. The rotor blades are twisted and broken off. The cockpit is under water. The tail and back rotors are in pieces, scattered from the river to the road just below the window. A column of fire and smoke rises from the main wreckage. There’s an arm laying outside of the side cargo door.
“Kris, we got to go. We can’t stay here.”
“This can’t be real,” I mumble.
“KRISTINE! MOVE IT!”
I run to the bedroom to grab my suitcase and cosmetic bag. My mind swims with everything that’s happened so far. I’m stunned, thinking about the spaceship, the helicopter, the strange object sticking out of the ground. What was that thing? Michael yells for me to come on. I move quickly, heading for the front door where he’s waiting.
As I step into the hallway, I run into my neighbor. Both of us drop our suitcases, but I end up on the floor. Michael yells at him. He apologizes profusely, trying to help me up. Michael shoves him out of the way and grabs my arm. With the strength of an ox, my brother has me back on my feet faster than I anticipated. My neighbor and I suddenly lock eyes. I see in him what I feel, absolute fear and disbelief. I can’t bear it. I look away. The neighbor apologizes one last time and takes off down the hallway. Michael and I are not far behind him.
The apartment building shakes as we’re about to enter the garage. We remain in the door, waiting for the earthquake to pass. Dust falls around us like snow. The moment the shaking stops, Michael and I run straight for his SUV. A few residents from the apartment building are standing around. No one is getting in their vehicles. Seems odd that folks are in the garage doing nothing other than talking. Michael doesn’t notice. He tosses his things in the SUV and tells me to get in. As I’m getting myself settled into the passenger’s side, Michael tries to start the engine. It won’t turn over. There’s no tick and no revving.
“It’s dead.” Michael gets out and yells at someone in the parking garage. “Hey! Does your car start?”
“No! Nobody’s car is working down here!”
“Just as I thought,” Michael says mostly to himself. “We’re walking.”
“To where?” I ask, getting out.
>
He opens the back gate to the SUV. I watch with confusion as he transfers his belongings from the suitcase to the rucksack.
“What are you doing?”
“There’s a gym bag in the back seat. Empty your luggage and put your stuff in there.”
“You mean, the same gym bag that you keep your dirty workout gear in?”
“I guess.”
“No, that thing stinks. I’m not putting my clean clothes in that dirty, nasty bag.”
“Kris, we have to walk. Your suitcase is going to slow us down.”
“To where? You never answered my question.”
“Out of Richmond.”
“That’s not a place.”
“We’ll talk more about it when we’re safe.” Michael gently pushes me away and points to the other side of the car.
The whole scenario is insane. I can’t believe I’m going along with this. I slowly go around the SUV, noticing the neighbor I bumped in the hallway. He stands next to his vehicle, shaking his head with his hands on his hips, looking at his car as if it’s a disappointment.
Michael and I finish repacking and head to the ramp that leads to the street. The wind is heavy with smoke from the helicopter accident.
“Should we check on the pilot?” I ask Michael.
“There’s nothing we can do. You saw it yourself. Nobody survived that crash.”
As we walk up the hill, I feel out of sorts, like everything is all wrong. I’m nervous and scared. I feel awful and sad. All of my emotions are keeping me from thinking straight. I need normal back. I need to be at work and working.
At the corner of South 26th and East Main, I’m shocked to see everything at a standstill. Cars are dead in the lanes. It looks like one was turning into the gas station across the street but stalled at the entrance. There are no sounds of sirens. Car alarms aren’t going off. The traffic lights are dead. A few people stand in the road or on the sidewalk, all uncertain on what to do next. There are looks of confusion, questions are asked, murmurings of the aliens, but no one believes it.
Michael starts down the sidewalk, heading towards downtown Richmond. Unwilling to accept these turns of events, I follow him, but I keep looking back.