"Don't chew on your eraser, Dawson."

That was the last thing Dawson Montgomery heard, or something like that. It was a bit more, his third grade teacher never gave just a warning, she didn't stop there, and it wasn't that simple. It was always a warning, followed by the why and then the consequences.

"Don't chew on your eraser, Dawson, you'll swallow it and choke. Then what? The whole class will have to stop just because you have a fidget problem."

He never liked when she did that, and it always seemed as if she did that to him a lot. Singled him out, drawing attention to him, and embarrassing him.

Dawson embarrassed easily, especially in school, he didn't know why. Maybe because he had a hard time with things. Math was a breeze, but reading and answering questions about what he read didn't come fast, or easy. He had to think. That meant hand to his forehead causing his dark blonde hair to stick straight up, all while biting on his pencil.

That was what he did that morning while doing his seat work. He read the story, it was dumb. However, Dawson wasn't dumb, he just didn't answer correctly when it came to things he didn't like. He was convinced had the story been about wrestling or monsters, he'd get every answer right.

Not when it came to a story about a boy named Sam who had to help his farmer friend carry a pail of water. Dawson didn't care much for the story when he read it and answering the questions was even harder when the teacher yelled at him every fifteen seconds.

What Dawson wanted to do was tell her to stop, but that meant sitting out recess.

Recess.

He wasn't really great at telling time, but he knew once that big hand swung up to the twelve, the bell would ring and it was lunch.

He couldn't wait.

Dawson looked up to the clock. It was half way there, little hand on the eleven, big hand just passed the six.

"Dawson, don't bite that..."

She scared him. He was concentrating, and when she did that, he bit the erased clean off into his mouth.

Instinct caused him to immediately spit it out, but he wondered if he actually did. All of the sudden, Dawson couldn't breathe. His throat closed up as if something was in there, his skin felt on fire, and everything went blurry around him. Every inhale was impossible. No air could get into his lungs.

There was no noise, Dawson couldn't move. He couldn't scream for help. It was the one time he wanted his teacher's attention. She didn't seem to notice. Heart racing out of control, Dawson didn't have time to panic, everything went black and his head dropped to the desk.


At first, Morgan Welsh tried to be calm and rational, but as soon as she heard Craig's voice on the speaker phone, she lost it… again.

"Fuck you. I mean it, fuck you, you're such a fucking asshole," she verbally hit him.

"Yeah, that's nice, Morg. Real nice. You done?" Craig asked. "No hello first, before you bitch me out?'

"No."

"Then why call?"

"What am I going to do, text it to you?" she asked.

"That's what most people do."

"I fucking hate you. "

"Jesus, Morgan."

Morgan hated that Craig remained calm, unrattled. She was angry, beyond that actually. Morgan was an ever changing wheel of emotions. Happy, sad, angry, bitter… it wasn't anything medical, it was all marriage related. It was out of her control, and she hated when anything was out of her control. Her job and entire life was under her thumb. From what she did in the workplace to how she paid the bills… Morgan had it intact, until the day she grabbed Craig's phone by mistake and learned her marriage was the one thing she didn't have a realistic grasp on.

How it slipped from her, she didn't know.

Married life was done, suddenly Morgan was thrust into a different way of living and she, like many others, strongly disliked change.

"What do you want today, Morgan? Aren't you supposed to be at work? Oh, wait, are you late again? The every punctual, never make a mistake Morgan, is screwing up her job?'

"It's your fault," she argued.

"Okay, I'm game. How is your being late my fault?"

"I went to check the bank account. You're spending our money…"

"My money."

"Our money!" she blasted. "While it is a joint account, while we are still married, it is our money and you're spending it on her."

"I'm not spending it on her."

"You're lying again."

"I'm not lying. I'm spending it on me so I can enjoy spending time with her. Does it make you feel better?"

Morgan hated the way she felt, enraged. Why couldn't Craig just be happy with her, why did he have to find someone else? While she lived under a fantasy that all was well in the Welsh marriage, Craig had been seeing a woman in the next county.

"The only thing that will make me feel better," Morgan said. "Is if you drop dead."

The moment she said that and did the power house 'end call' she felt her chest collapse and all air escape her.

Suddenly every pumping ounce of her blood burned as it ran rapidly through her veins.

Was it a panic attack, heart attack? It couldn't be. Morgan had never had one, yet she was choking. She couldn't take air in, or let it out.

Her eyes widened, and with the instant thought to hit the brakes or pull over, she instinctively grabbed for her own throat. Her hands were off the wheel a split second when she felt the hard jolt and bang as a car slammed into the passenger door. It spun her vehicle into the next lane facing the opposite direction.

Even in her duress she was still semi aware enough to see she was on a one way collision course with a truck speeding her way. Losing consciousness, Morgan gripped the wheel and turned it. She traded one impact for another. She was like a billiard ball bouncing from one car to another. Morgan never felt it though, her head dropped to the steering wheel just as she entered the vehicular game of pool.


It didn't even make sense, Judd Bryant thought. He understood his producer wanted an awesome looking music video, however he was still scratching his head over what the heck a construction site had to do with his newest song. Not to mention he was afraid of heights and now they wanted him on the ninth floor of a shell of a building, strumming his guitar and singing, "You dropped me like a bad habit." It was dumb. He just didn't get it. No one really watched music videos anymore unless they had some sort of hook. They didn't do a music video the year before and his song "Craving Carrot Cake and Karen' stayed at number one in the country charts for eight weeks "You'll take the crew elevator up," his manager, Ben said. "Stand on the ledge and just strum and sing"

"No, absolutely not," Judd told him. "Get a stunt double."

"Judd, chicks love a guy who does his own stunts."

"Which is why they call them doubles, so no one knows"

"'Man you're sad. What happened to the fearless country boy?" Ben asked.

"Fearless?" Judd laughed. "I may be country, but I have never been fearless. Ever. I don't even swim. Seriously Ben, this is insane. Even the camera guy has a stunt double."

"That's called a camera drone."

"Yeah, he's not up there filming, even he can see it's insane."

"It's perfectly safe. If you want, I'll come up there with you and stay out of the shot."

"You'll balance on the beam with me?" Judd asked.

"There's not any balancing, the entire floor is finished up there."

Judd placed his hands on his hips and looked up to the structure. It wasn't his thing, it really wasn't. He didn't like getting in front of a camera. An audience was different, he was confident playing guitar. When it came to heights he wasn't. Despite his celebrity status, Judd was a man of simple means. He didn't like conflict and he hated letting people down. After a few minutes of staring up and some debating, he figured what would it hurt.

"Okay, fine, but if I fall..."

"You'll sell a million records."

"Asshole!"

"Grab your guitar big guy, these workers don't have all day to wait for us to get done." Ben gave a hand signal to the director that all was good.

"I'm pretty sure they're fine with just standing around," Judd lifted his guitar, paused for a second, then called for Ben. "Wait.

"What?" Ben asked.

"Here." Judd handed Ben a bottle of water.

"I'm not thirsty."

"No, I need you to spill it behind me."

"What?" Ben laughed the word.

"Spill it behind me. It's good luck."

"Spilling water behind you is good luck?"

"It's an age old Serbian custom."

"You're not Serbian."

"I'm pretty sure with the way the world is a melting pot, we all have a little Serbian in us."

"I doubt that."

"I do," said Judd. "Two percent. I did one of those DNA things. So, please."

Ben grunted and took the water. "You know it's not spilling, it's pouring."

"It's okay," Judd said.

Disgruntled, Ben walked behind Judd and poured some water. 'There." He handed him the bottle. "Feel better?'

"Much. Want me to put some behind you?"

"No. I'm fine. I don't believe in superstitions." Ben walked away.

A construction worker waited to take them up using the temporary elevator on the outside of the structure. Judd kept thinking about how if he fell, there was no surviving it.

Once up the floor, Judd didn't feel so bad, even after the elevator lowered. The building was only missing walls.

He placed his guitar on, and out of habit, strummed it a few times.

"Okay," the director yelled through the megaphone. "Wait for my call. You should be able to hear the music, strum along, I only need a few good shots."

Judd gave a thumbs up. Then noticed Ben walking near the edge. "Get back."

"I'm fine. It's not as high as I thought."

"It's high enough. Now get back. You're in the shot anyhow."

"I'm..." Ben grew silent.

With his back to Judd, Ben didn't move, then his hands shot up and Judd watched his elbows flap.

"You trying to be a bird."

Ben didn't answer. "Ben? You Okay?"

He turned slightly to face Judd. Ben's face was blue and his hands clasped his throat. He made eye contact with Judd, then tipped to his left and fell over the edge.

"Ben!" Judd charged forth, stopping just at the edge. "Someone call 911!" For a split second, Judd believed he had seen the worst thing in his life. In a panic, he peered over the edge, not only did he see Ben, but the director and then the body of a construction worker fell from above him. It fell straight down, fast and lifeless, then another fell.

Was he having a nightmare? What was happening? Sounds of metal against metal, car crashes, bang and booms rang out all around him.

Judd's heart raced out of control and he opened his mouth to scream, nothing came out. He couldn't breathe and it wasn't from lack of air. It was like in a second the world ended, and he was the only one still standing.


Gasp!

The air entered Dawson's lungs and, head still on the desk, he opened his eyes with the large breath that revived him. He was confused, didn't know what was happening. He remembered choking or not being able to breathe and that was it. Things were blurry. He expected to be scolded by the teacher for falling asleep. He was afraid to lift his head. Would she believe he fell to the desk and it wasn't in his control? Even if she did believe he choked, she'd then yell at him.

Dawson had to face the music.

He sat up.

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the second hand on the clock. Slowly he looked around. What was going on? His classmates all had their heads laying on their desks, he didn't even see his teacher. Slowly he stood up. It was a prank, he thought. They were pranking him because he fell asleep.

"Guys," he said. "Guys it's not funny. You can stop."

No one moved. The class room was silent.

"It's not funny!" He shouted. His stomach twitched and his hands shook, he was scared. Extending a hand he reached out to Melinda. Her head was down, eyes open and she had a blue look to her.

How did she do that? How did she look like that?

Dawson was young, he never claimed to be smart, but he knew the second he touched Melinda that she wasn't joking.

Her skin was cold and she didn't move.

In a panic, he kept pushing her. "Wake up," he said. "Wake up." He moved her harder, yet she didn't respond. Dawson didn't stop, he shook and shook her until a frightening reality hit him. Melinda wouldn't wake up and neither would anyone else in his classroom.

He spun around to race from the classroom and he saw the blood on the floor. A huge puddle seeped out from the side of the teacher's desk.

When he stepped closer, that was when he saw her.

His teacher. She lay on the floor, her color was like Melinda's and a pool of blood not only encircled her head but flowed out like a river.

Knowing he had to get someone, Billy fled the room screaming, "Help."

He raced out of the class room screaming, then a thought hit him. What if someone did it? He heard the news, he knew people did bad things like that at school. With that thought, Dawson quit screaming. He stopped running and moved quietly. When he did, he passed another class. His head slowly turned to his right and he saw the same thing. Everyone in that classroom was the same way.

He picked up his pace trying not to slam his feet on the floor. It didn't matter, the halls were so quiet, every move he made echoed. The office wasn't far, at the end of the hall actually. He had to let the principal know. She would help.

When he was near enough, he peeked to make sure he didn't see any bad guys and he shot full speed around the bend into the office.

Dawson didn't even cry for help. He saw Miss Molly the secretary with her head on her desk and the principal's legs extended out of a doorway behind her.

His little heart beat so fast and his entire being was consumed with a fear that no adult could ever experience. Tears formed in his eyes and then fell rapidly down his cheeks.

Scared, but knowing he had to try, Dawson reached for the phone and dialed 911.

It rang and rang, no one answered.

He thought about hiding, waiting for help to get there, but he was afraid the bad person was still inside.

After peeking out of the office, he raced as fast as his legs would carry him, down the hall and out the double front doors.

As soon as he blasted outside, he knew.

In front of the school, two cars were crashed and the sound of their still running motors were the only noise. A man and his dog lay on the sidewalk, not moving.

It wasn't just his class or his school, it was everywhere and in his confused and frightened state, Dawson did what any child would do at that moment. Emotions took over and he sat down on the curb and sobbed.


Morgan floated. At least she felt as if she did. Flashes of light came at her as if she were sailing through space. She moved quickly and was even conscious about it. After feeling the last impact, she was lucid and aware.

"This is peace," she thought. "I am at peace. Thank God."

She figured her anxiety attack or even coronary, was the reason for the car crash. She hoped no one else was hurt or killed. As she floated she didn't even know why she was angry in the first place, why she was upset? It didn't matter. She felt free and at ease.

"If this is death, then I am good with it."

She didn't feel pain, none at all. Before the accident, something caused her to ache all over, something emotional, but that was gone.

Morgan was flying.

The lights grew brighter and she believed, any second, she would see her mother, her father and her sister.

All waiting on the other side. Waiting to greet her. She moved even faster, then suddenly something changed, something was different.

A pressure filled her ears and in an instant the bright lights left, it all turned dark and a sharp pain hit her chest. With that pain, her eyes opened and she sat back quickly with a wheezing breath that was deep and loud.

Morgan would have sworn someone hit her with a defibrillator had she not been alone, her face inches from a bloody and deflated air bag.

A car horn blasted continuously, but it wasn't hers. It was in the distance. She tried to move, but even moving an inch, caused sharp pains everywhere. Her head especially throbbed and there was something heavy and wet on her eyes, causing her vision to be blurry. Slowly she brought up her right hand. Her entire arm shook as she brought her fingers across her eyes.

Blood.

It was blood in her eyes. It had to be from her head.

Morgan tired breathing, when she did, she felt it in her ribs. They ached horribly.

Something was broken, but what.

There were no sirens, nothing. With her other hand she reached for the door, but couldn't even grip the handle. She was too weak.

Another inhale, and Morgan drew in enough breath to squeak out a barely audible. "Help."

That wasn't going to work, no one would hear her.

She tried again, this time louder. "Help." Her shoulders bounced with emotions and after one more attempt to scream out, Morgan gave up.

The pain was too much and she started to cry.

Just as she lowered her head back down to the steering wheel, her driver's door flung open.

"You're alive," he said.

Morgan whimpered and only had enough strength to turn her head. "Yes," she peeped out.

"I got you," he said. "Hold on. It might hurt when I get you out. You're alive. Thank God."

He leaned into her. She didn't see much of this man, only a brief glimpse of his darker skin and the blue of his shirt as he reached his arms to her.

When he lifted her, it hurt, but she was grateful. A brief glimpse of the police badge on his chest, and Morgan collapsed against his chest.

She was saved.

Everything would be all right.


It wasn't Judd's first disaster rodeo, that was the reason he was able to keep his calm.

He blamed himself. Ever since he was a kid it was like he was a magnet for trouble, but it was worse as he grew older.

There was the one and only earthquake to cause massive damage in Kansas City, he was supposed to play that night. He stumbled out of the rubble of his hotel to massive casualties everywhere. He rolled up his sleeves and helped.

The F-5 that struck outside of Oklahoma City… he was playing. He was whisked from the stage moments before the stage… was whisked away.

There were many others. Judd just happened to be there.

For a while the press had a field day with his reputation and people created memes.

'Tsunami warning? If Judd Bryant is in town, you should leave.'

He had seen a lot, been through a lot, but never anything like what he was now experiencing.

Everyone was dead.

The electricity was still going yet he opted not to take the service elevator. His very first thought was a terror attack, some sort of mega chemical weapon was unleashed on Akron, Ohio. Although he couldn't figure out who would want to hurt Akron.

It was the only thing that made sense though.

An attack. Smoke rose to the sky and there were fires everywhere.

Judd knew he had to find a way to get out of the city. A place he didn't know, he was there for a concert. The music video was a last minute thing, decided on when they were in Lexington just one week earlier.

He didn't have any knowledge of Akron, just that he was in a construction site not far from a suburb. He took the stairs from the ninth floor, paused by Ben's body to pay respects, then lifted his phone. He expected choppers or planes to fly over, but they didn't.

Obviously the area was quarantined, especially if it was a weapon.

He had a signal and instinctively called 911. There was no answer and he went on the internet. The news site didn't mention anything and he immediately logged onto social media.

Again, nothing there.

There was no way, in his mind, that the attack went further than Akron.

So he began to walk the neighborhood.

Not far from the site, was a main roadway. It was a mess, cars were smashed into each other, people slumped over the steering wheels, others had collapsed on the sidewalk.

"Keep it together," he told himself. Judd had a freak out moment when he watched Ben fall, then the others. He lost it. Then reality hit him that there was nothing he could do, but be what he was… a survivor.

He called out as he walked, asking for anyone to answer, no one did.

Two blocks into his journey, the main road crossed through a residential area. He walked through the parking lot of a convenience store gas station. Cars were at the pumps, people lay by their vehicles, some held the nozzles, as if they grabbed them in their final moments of life, pulling on the handles, toppling. Another car was pressed against a pump, the driver against the wheel, the vehicle hit the pump with enough force to spring a leak. A stream of gasoline flowed into the street.

Seeing the button for the emergency shutoff, Judd ran over and pushed it. He couldn't do anything about the gas already spilled but he felt like he had done something.

There was a bar next to the gas station and a lone pick-up truck was parked there. He knew it was early, but the bar was his best chance for a television.

He approached the single oak door with the lunch special notice and opened it.

"Hello!" He hollered as he stepped in. "Anyone here?"

There wasn't anyone that he could see, at least at the tables, the bar, or on the floor. The lights were low, but a case of beer was on top of the bar and next to that, the register drawer.

Someone was getting ready to open it.

The television was in the corner up high and Judd walked behind the bar to look for a remote.

Behind the bar was a body. Judd deducted that was probably the bartender. Trying not to look, Judd searched around the register and found the remote in a basket with pens. He lifted it and aimed it at the television, turning it on.

Some old movie played and Judd switched the channels until he hit a news station. At that instant, he froze. There was no ticker tape rolling across the bottom telling of breaking news.

It was a single image. The camera angle was skewed some and everything was off center. Clearly it was a newsroom, the backdrop wall of televisions played static, while the anchorman slumped lifeless over the desk.

Right there and then, Judd knew. He was ready to learn about the attack, ready to know how bad it was, at least he thought he was until he saw that. It wasn't just Akron, it was everywhere. For that revelation, Judd was not prepared.


Dawson was so overcome with emotions, both fear and sadness that he passed out on the sidewalk in front of the school. Before he did, he kept thinking that his parents were at work and would hear about the school and come get him. He didn't want to leave or go running off somewhere, then they wouldn't find him.

Like many boys his age, he had an imagination, but Dawson always took his imagination one step further. He was controlled by it at times, his extensive day dreams and trips to his fantasy imaginations were often the cause of many parent teacher conferences.

"Save it for after school," his teacher would tell him.

Dawson couldn't control it.

If he saw a bird, suddenly his mind went elsewhere.

He had day dreams about being a hero, fighting Professor Fry, the evil bad guy who tried to destroy the world. In his mind, Professor Fry was always the one and only man cafeteria worker. He was scary, the perfect bad guy to defeat.

Even in all his wildest fantasy scenarios never did Dawson envision one like he just witnessed.

He wished this time was one of those times he was told that he 'lived in a made up world', then he could shake his head, focus and make it go away.

It wasn't.

All his friends and teachers were dead.

Professor Fry didn't do it. Someone did.

He didn't dream when he fell asleep, but he woke up to a loud whistle. A whirling sound that grew louder and louder.

Dawson jumped, grabbing his ears. The sound was so loud it hurt. He looked up to see a plane shooting like a missile above his head. It flew low and on its side, so close Dawson swore he could touch it. It wasn't the engines that made a noise, it was the plane cutting through the air.

A few seconds later, not only was it gone, it crashed somewhere. The ground shook violently and a huge fireball erupted in the sky.

He screamed and turned to run back into the school, when he saw smoke billowing up from the far end by the gym. He didn't see any flames, but he knew there had to be a fire.

Knowing he couldn't stay there, Dawson had one option, which was to go home. He had never walked to school. His father always drove him and his mother picked him up. He knew where he lived, he just had to remember how to get there. That would probably be the second place his parents would go.

He wanted to go back in and get his book bag, but he was smart enough not to run into a building that was on fire.

After looking both ways, Dawson crossed the street and headed in the direction of his home.

It was a blessing and a curse that Dawson loved horror films, more so that his parents let him watch scary things. Scary things within reason. Then again, they didn't know half the stuff he watched because he would use his tablet and watch videos on line. After his father yelled at him once for watching 'inappropriate' videos, he just used his mother's account. No one checked that.

The videos made him brave and smart and also caused his imagination to take off.

He walked fast, looking for landmarks, and when he passed by and saw the tobacco store, the one his father said didn't really sell tobacco, he knew he had taken the long way home, but he also knew where to go.

Dawson hadn't seen a person at all, nor did he hear a dog or bird. He tried not to look at anything, the car crashes, or bodies on the street. He focused ahead, watching the black smoke from the plane crash as it darkened the sky.

He stayed low and out of sight, keeping a keen eye out. He remembered the videos and movies and wasn't ruling out that all those bodies on the sidewalk would stand up, walk and want to eat him.

Aim for the head.

That would be easy if Dawson was taller, but he wasn't. He was pretty short for his age, the smallest kid in his class. His best defense against the walking dead was to run and hide.

He hoped it was just a bad man or bad people that made it happen.

Finally, Dawson made it to his street and he ran all the way home. Neither parent's car was in the driveway. He didn't expect that. They were working.

He knew to go to the basement door near the garage, a key was there. It took him awhile fumbling and he figured out which way to turn it. It was when he opened the door that he finally noticed it. The sound of a lawn mower. Hearing a mower was such a common thing it didn't register, until he thought about it.

Someone was mowing the lawn.

Someone was alive.

He pulled the door closed and stepped out into the driveway, listening.

It came from his left and his eyes widened.

Mr. Westerman, a grandfatherly man who didn't work anymore. He was always mowing his lawn. Pushing the old mower back and forth, up the small hill, even if the yard didn't need cut. He lived two doors away and Dawson took off in that direction.

"Mr. Westerman!" Dawson shouted as he ran. "Mr. Westerman."

The lawn mower kept going. A steady buzz.

Sure enough, it was coming from behind Mr. Westerman's house and Dawson sprinted back to his house.

Once inside, he locked the door. In fact, he locked all the doors. He had to remember to be quiet. Just in case. If the dead got up, they'd hear him cry and scream, and then find him.

They didn't have a house phone and Dawson wasn't old enough for a cell, so he couldn't call his mom or dad, or even call for help. He thought about going to the neighbors, but didn't want to see if they were dead.

On the way through the basement family room, he paused and looked at the family picture above the fireplace. The one where they tried fishing, when none of them knew how to fish. His mom loved that picture and she looked pretty in it. Her hair was the same color as his, everyone always said that. Lighter when the sun hit it, but he looked like his dad, built like him, too. Not real tall, pretty thin everywhere but in the middle. They used to jiggle their bellies at the same time to music. It was fun. When he saw that picture, Dawson got sad again.

He hoped his mom and dad were safe. He needed his parents to be alright. Something inside of him feared they weren't.

He couldn't think that way. He rushed up the stairs and called out, just in case they walked home like him. There was no answer and Dawson was afraid to look around.

In fact, he was scared of his own home and he knew what he had to do.

He opened the fridge, grabbed drink boxes, the bag of string cheese, two of those lunch things, and chips. Arms loaded, he retreated to his room and locked the door and window.

He moved the toy box in front of the door, grabbed his tablet, plugged it in and laid on his bed.

There he would stay until his parents got him. He'd watch videos, all day and all night if he had to. It would keep him busy, take his mind away and keep him from crying and getting too scared.

Dawson did that, losing track of time, far into the night until he fell fast asleep.


The woman was hurt, pretty badly too. Ross Howard wasn't at a loss on how to help the woman he pulled from the car, he just didn't know where to start. Although he never thought about leaving her hair stuck to her face. It acted like a coagulant and the moment he pulled it aside to clean her wounds, the gash on her head bled profusely. It didn't want to stop.

He didn't think anything was broken, though he couldn't be sure. He had to wait until she regained consciousness, if she ever did, to find out where it hurt. Until then, he did what he could. He had to, he needed her to survive.

She was alive and he intended to keep her that way.

Ross was pretty sure there weren't any doctors or medical personnel, at least not close by.

He was a realist.

Something happened, something big happened and his mind spun with trying to figure out exactly what it was.

In his sixteen years on the police force, Ross swore he had seen it all. Obviously, he hadn't.

It was a pretty uneventful day up until ten minutes before everything just died. An unusual occurrence for the Pittsburgh area. Ross was happy about that, he had issued three traffic citations and a warning, he planned to go out to dinner with his wife for their anniversary, even though it was still three days away. He stopped by Station Square to make a reservation and was on his way down the Boulevard when he and his partner received the call about a robbery in progress at a news shop. There wasn't any money to be gained there, everyone knew that. Small time, it had to be some kids trying to get drug money.

They pulled over with sirens blaring and hadn't even had time to draw their weapons when the first shot sailed through the glass door, killing his partner instantly.

"Officer down," Ross called out. "Need…"

Both gunman came from the store, one used an older woman as a human shield. His arm around her neck and a gun to her head.

"Back up or I'll shoot her," the young man said. "I mean it."

Ross knew he did, but he didn't have time to react.

It happened. Ross saw it first.

For a second everything rippled before his eyes. Like when heat rises off a barbecue, distorting everything with a wavy effect. Ross thought it was his blood pressure, after all his heart was racing out of control. Then his throat and nose burned out of control, which happened a moment before he lost his ability to take in air.

He tried, nothing would enter his lungs. It wasn't just him. The two assailants, the older woman were worse off. They turned blue before his eyes, dropping their guns, grabbing their throats before finally taking a lifeless nose dive to the pavement.

Was it because he was bigger? Ross didn't know, but he fought through it, and was grateful he did, had he lost consciousness he would have been killed when a car, full speed ahead, jumped the curb, ran over the two assailants then crashed through the window of the news shop.

He gasped as he was finally able to breathe, he did so in enough time to dive out of the way of another car.

Ross realized those on the street weren't the only ones keeling over, people in their cars were, too.

The Boulevard was a busy street and those who dropped on the sidewalk looked like roadkill when cars from the road just smashed over them.

He was, from what he could tell, the only person standing and he raced into the bank, nearly tripping over the bodies on the floor as he made his way to the far back wall near the vault.

He felt safe there from any wayward vehicles. At least he would see them coming.

It only took a minute for it all to stop.

When it did, Ross waited a few more minutes before heading outside.

Continuous car horns rang out along with hissing sounds from smashed cars. Vehicles were toppled over each other. So much was a mangled mess.

He walked to the street, placed his hands to his head and turned around. The wreckage was everywhere.

It was a chemical attack. It had to be. Something new, something he hadn't heard of. That's why he saw the ripple and felt the burn, that was the only thing that made sense. How did he survive it? He looked at the bodies on the ground, those in the cars, they were all blue. Asphyxiated blue.

Ross grabbed the radio and pressed the button. He made his call to the station, waited, hearing nothing.

"Come on," Ross beckoned, then tried again. Still nothing. "Anyone!" he shouted out. "Can anyone hear me?"

He heard the squeak of a car door and he looked up. Across the street, he watched a young man of maybe twenty stumble from a car.

"Thank God." Ross rushed over to him. "Son, hold on. You may be injured."

The young man turned around, a metal object protruded from his chest. His eyes met with Ross. "Help me." He pleaded.

Ross reached for him, but the young man fell to the ground. Immediately he lowered himself to the man and felt for a pulse, but the young man had died. It was something different for Ross to think about though as he didn't die from whatever happened.

If the young man had lived through it and if Ross beat it, then somebody else could, too. More than anything his first instinct was to get home to check his wife then go to the school and look for his girls. In the interim, he would listen and look for anyone else alive.

His best bet were the car accidents. They were severe, limbs scattered about the road, bodies ejected. On top of that, there was the frustration of the car horns. Not all that many, but enough to make hearing anything difficult.

He found one caused by a driver and by lifting the driver from the wheel silenced it.

Then he discovered another. Just as he cut that, he heard what he thought was a voice. He dismissed it as his imagination, until he heard it again. Ross moved frantically looking in each car until he saw her. He feared, she too, like the young man, died when her head fell to the steering wheel. But she opened her eyes when he opened the door.

Ross pulled her out and lifted her into his arms.

Looking left then right, Ross sought a safe place to take her to, place her down and help her until he could figure a way out of the city, or at least find a route not blocked with cars.

He spotted a law office on the corner, right across from the news shop. It wasn't far and he carried her there. The door was unlocked and he brought her inside.

He didn't see anyone and he laid her down on the couch in the reception area.

Calling out was futile, he knew that when he saw the receptionist on the floor behind the huge desk. He would deal with her body later, right then he wanted to make sure the woman from the car accident did not die.

"I'll be right back," he told her. She groaned, that was a good sign and he ran back outside. His police car was sandwiched between the news shop and a truck. The truck of the squad car was open from the collision. Perfect for Ross. He reached in, grabbed the first aid kit and a blanket.

He took the time to clean and bandage her wounds, hoping she had nothing internal. He covered her and tried to give her water, but she was unconscious.

"What am I doing?" he asked himself out loud. "I need to get home. I have to find my family."

He wanted to, even felt compelled to, but he also knew that leaving the woman to die, without trying to help, would be a huge mistake in the long run. He watched everyone just drop over. Since then, there were no sirens, no helicopters, and no military. Whatever hit was spread out pretty far.

Help wasn't on the way.

After about an hour of staring at the sleeping woman, not knowing anything about her, Ross sought out her car again, keeping an eye and ear out for anyone. The car horns had long since stopped blaring and the streets were finally silent.

Her phone was on the floor along with her purse, he grabbed them both and took them with him to the law office.

Once back, he rummaged through her purse and pulled out her wallet. He opened it, exposing her license.

"Now I have a name," he said and leaned close to her. "Wake up, Morgan. I need you to stay alive. Because right now, it looks like you and I are the only ones who are."


Judd didn't handle the apocalypse as well as he thought. In his mind he was taking it like a champ, but in reality he handled it more like a man on a suicidal mission, a man losing his mind.

It started in that bar, one drink turned into two, then he just grabbed a bottle and ate potato chips while staring at the dead news anchorman on the television set. It never changed, never went off the air.

It was hard to comprehend and hard to grieve an entire country. He was taking it in though, trying to process it. The person closest to him dropped off the side of an unfinished building right before his eyes. Beyond Ben, he had friends, no one that close. The life of a country music star always kept him from settling down with one person for very long. He had been dancing with fame since he was a skinny, scrawny teenager, performing on a reality show. Drumming up votes because his 'ma' had just died and it was just him, his father and brother living in a trailer. He skyrocketed after that, sort of the country music equivalent to a pop star. Although he never really went the fame and fortune route of the greats before him, work was steady, fans bought his records and he lived the dream.

He would have given it all up to have someone. He was grateful at that moment though, that he didn't have family or else Judd would have reacted differently.

His big brother had been in the Army and died serving his country. Judd's father, his biggest fan and best friend passed away just as, 'Craving Carrot Cake and Karen' hit number one.

Judd wandered around the neighborhood, looking for answers and for people.

He stopped at a church, it was empty and there were no bodies in there. He debated just hanging there, but when he heard the plane fall from the sky, he left. If a plane fell, then someone was alive to fly, at least for a while.

Then when he realized it was probably on autopilot until it ran out of fuel, hence why it only made a whistling sound. That caused him to look on his phone to see how many planes would be in the sky at one time.

If one fell, another one could do the same. It took him to a site that actually showed the planes in the air. He watched them disappear every few seconds.

By late afternoon, Judd was drunk. He found his way back to the construction site and sat in the rental car, his phone plugged into the charger.

He posted on social media.

'I'm alive and stuck in Akron, anyone else?'

"Did you know at any given time there are over two thousand planes in the sky?'

Random thoughts.

He even made a video, a drunken rambling message about being the last man on earth, stranded in Akron. Calling himself Charlton Heston in reference to the cult classic Omega Man. Then singing a song he wrote off the cuff called, "Call me Mr. Heston."

He was in a pathetic state and ready to leave Akron. By that time, it was late, he was hammered. Guided by bourbon balls, he made his way back up to the ninth floor of the building where he went to the air traffic website and watched until the final plane disappeared from that radar. After that, he passed out.

A pounding headache caused him to open his eyes and he was instantly awake when he realized how close to the edge he had rolled. How he didn't fall over and die, he didn't know.

The reality of what happened hit him when he saw Ben's body still on the ground below.

"Ah, man, Ben." Judd lowered his head.

Bing.

His eyes widened.

The tone rang out and it was from his phone. He looked around to where he put it and found it several feet from the edge.

It wasn't a text message. It was an alert. How many times had Ben told him to shut off his alerts on his video account.

"Nah," Judd told him. "The bing makes me know I'm still relevant. And I turn them off when I think it will go viral."

Judd had the alerts on, and he was glad he did.

He looked down to this phone. He had one new comment on his video.

He opened up the comment.

One comment, posted three minutes earlier from a woman named Rita Simms.

"I'm alive in Akron. I'm scared. Can you help me?"

"Oh, wow, yeah. Yeah." Judd said out loud. "Please be watching." He typed quickly. "Yes. Where are you?"

"I'm at my house."

"I can come there," Judd replied, his headache was secondary, the comment was like an immediate pain killer. He was thrilled, someone else was out there. There was hope. "What is the address. I think GPS still works."

A few seconds later, Rita replied with an address. Judd touched it and it brought up the 'maps'. The internet was still running, and he prayed it stayed up for just a bit more, at least until he found Rita.

After zoning in on his location, Judd was even more excited.

"You are only two miles from me." Judd typed. "Here is my number if you need to call me. I'm on my way."

"I don't have a phone," was the reply.

Judd grunted then stared again at the map. He made a mental picture in case it got lost. "Be there shortly. Don't go anywhere."

"I won't. I'm scared."

Judd hurried to the stairs, he moved fast, filled with exuberance. Half way down the steps his message went off again.

"Watch out for the zombies. They may be out there."

Judd stopped.

"Holy shit. I knew it. I knew it," he said to himself and simply told Rita to stay inside.

It made sense. Everyone dropped dead, of course they would rise. Ben hadn't yet, Judd didn't see any walking corpses but that didn't mean they weren't out there. Rita was probably barricaded in her home. Judd envisioned a group banging on her door, trying to get in.

He grabbed the first thing he could find as a weapon, a hammer, then got into the rental car and followed the directions.

He made it only about a mile when mangled cars on the main road blocked him from going any further. Hammer in hand, he ran the rest of the way on foot.

He kept an eye out for any creatures, but he didn't see any. The directions took him to a house on a modest residential street. There were no cars in the driveway, no 'zombies' that he could see, and he was glad. Judd didn't want to pound on the door or scream out, just in case. He sent a message as he walked to the front door.

"I'm here," he wrote as he stood on the porch.

A few seconds later, the front door flung open and Judd was pummeled with welcoming arms that latched tight around his waist. At that moment, the zombie warning made sense, considering who it came from. Judd was so grateful he got drunk and made that stupid video, or else he never would have gone to that house. Because Rita wasn't a woman after all. Rita was a child. A young boy who trembled and held on to Judd for dear life.

Judd wrapped his arms around the child, holding him. "It's okay. It's okay. What's your name?"

"Dawson," the boy replied muffled. His face buried in Judd's gut.

"You're not alone, Dawson. I'm here," Judd said. "It's gonna be all right."

Judd didn't need to know what the child had been through, he himself bore witness to the events. However, he couldn't imagine the fear Dawson experienced. It was gut wrenching to think about the kid being alone.

They stood on the porch and Judd held him while he cried while he kept telling Dawson everything was going to be fine. Even though they both knew that was the furthest thing from the truth.


That firm rule of 'Don't talk to strangers' went out the window, and Dawson was sure his mother would not be mad. After all, if the guy was all that bad, his mother wouldn't have subscribed to his videos. Dawson was glad she did or else he wouldn't have seen the notification of a new video. When it popped up, Dawson knew someone out there was still alive.

Lucky for the guy, Dawson was watching videos or he would have missed it. Yes, he was glad the man found him, really glad, but Dawson sensed the man needed him, too.

Just because he was a grown up, didn't mean he wasn't scared. In fact, Dawson felt bad for him. He was stuck far from home, when Dawson himself was in his own bed. It was dark and the man was so scared, he was talking funny, his eyes were as red as Dawson's probably from crying. But he sang good and wrote a fun song. Dawson watched the video three times before leaving a comment. It made Dawson calm. He needed calm, he cried a lot the night before. So much that his eyes were puffy and his eyeballs were dry. He thought he used up all his tears. That was until the man arrived and Dawson cried again.

Dawson was a hugger, so when the man showed up at his house he just grabbed on to him. He was tall guy, not real thin like his dad, nor did he have the pillow gut. Dawson felt like he was a friend, especially after the video.

After he showed up, Dawson didn't know what was next. The guy stepped in, shut the door and Dawson was a little scared.

"You aren't gonna kill me, are you?" Dawson asked.

"Nah," the man crouched down to be at his height. "Why? You ain't planning on killing me, are you?"

"Not if I don't have to."

He smiled and rubbed Dawson's hair. "Look, I'm not real good with kids, I don't have a lot experience. You know how it goes. But I like them. I think you're pretty damn brave to be standing here in front of me after yesterday."

"It was scary."

"Yeah, it was." Judd agreed.

"I liked your song."

"Thanks, it was a last minute thing."

"What now?" Dawson asked.

"Well, we'll figure that out. Did you eat?"

"Only some string cheese."

"Not a meal. Bet you have food."

"We do. My mom likes to shop," Dawson said.

"Don't all women?"

Dawson shrugged.

"Tell you what. Lights are still on, bet the water is still warm. Looks like you're still in your school uniform. Why don't you get a change of clothes, take a shower or bath, whatever kids take these days, and I'll make us some food. Sound good?"

Dawson nodded.

"How hungry are you? Little hungry? Regular hungry, or big?"

"Very big."

"Then big breakfast it is. Go shower."

"Okay." Dawson took a few steps back, then stopped. "I'm glad you're here, Mr. Heston." Then Dawson ran to his room to get his clothes. He meant his words. There was a feeling of scared that Dawson had since school. Sometimes it was less, sometimes it was so strong his whole body shook, but whatever the level, it never went away. Until Mr. Heston showed up and Dawson didn't feel as scared anymore.


There was a phone charger on the counter and it fit Judd's phone. He plugged it in. He needed the informational resource it was.

In fact one of the first things Judd searched on the internet was how long the internet would last. Most experts agreed only a couple hour because it would be overloaded with people posting. Since everyone was basically dead, Judd figured he'd have the internet as long as the power held up. Which, according to the websites, was about a week.

He searched lots of things, including a quick tip search on handling kids. His best reference was his father so he placed himself in his father's mindset.

Cooking was something he didn't need to search. Judd had been cooking since he was thirteen. He fried up the eggs and bacon and pulled out the frozen waffles. After setting the table nice for him and Dawson, he started snooping around the kitchen for information about his parents. He knew that subject would come up.

It would have to, unless Dawson knew the fate of his parents.

"What are you looking for?" Dawson asked when he returned.

"Honestly?" Judd asked. "Just looking for stuff about your parents."

"What kind of stuff?" Dawson sat down.

Judd poured a cup of coffee and joined him. "Do you know where they are, Dawson?"

Dawson nodded and grabbed a piece of toast. "They both were working. Probably stuck there."

The last thing Judd was going to do was give the kid a reality check. "Do you know where they work?"

"My mom teaches at a school and my dad works at a bank helping people buy houses. I was waiting here for them."

"That's always good."

"They didn't come back. You got here. You think... you think the same thing happened to them?"

Judd swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't know. If you want, I can find their work and go look."

"And leave me?"

"It would be for the best."

Rapidly, Dawson shook his head. "I wanna go."

"Dawson, if they're… if something is wrong, it won't be good. You don't need to see it."

"I didn't need to see the lawnmower eat Mr. Westerman, but I did."

"You have a…" Judd tilted his head as he looked at Dawson. "The lawnmower ate Mr. Westerman?" He asked shocked.

"He fell under it."

Judd cringed. "Oh, man. Sorry you had to see that."

"Me, too. I saw a plane fall from the sky."

"Yeah, me, too."

"You talked on the video about how many planes were in the sky. How many are left?"

"None," Judd said. "The last one, DAL4531 dropped from the sky right before midnight."

"How did you know about that stuff?"

"I looked it up. I looked up a lot of stuff. "

"Did you look up how to survive? Like hacks on surviving."

"Hacks?" Judd asked. "Never heard a kid use that term. Yep, I did. I might have to write things down."

"You can use my mom's computer and print them out."

"Little man, that's a great idea."

"Any zombie survival stuff?" Dawson asked. "I was watching the videos about it."

"Dawson, I didn't see any zombies."

"Something caused everyone to die, right. It makes sense they'll get right back up."

"Wow, we think alike. I thought the same thing."

"Have to be ready," Dawson said. "They wouldn't make movies about it if it wasn't going to happen. What other stuff did you look up?"

"Everything."

"Did you look up what happened?" Dawson asked.

"No."

"That's not everything."

"I think everyone died before they knew what happened," Judd said.

"Maybe someone didn't, you didn't, I didn't. Maybe someone posted somewhere. You have a lot of followers, you should check."

"Yeah, yeah, I do. That's a great idea, Dawson."

"Or at least check the internet for people surviving after everyone dropped over." Dawson suggested.

"I'll do that now." Judd stood and walked for the phone.

"Breakfast is good, Mr. Heston."

"Thanks, I've been…" Judd paused. "Why are you calling me, Mr. Heston?"

"You wrote the song, said that's your name. I was calling you mister cause it's polite."

"Oh. Well, you don't need to call me Mr. Heston."

"Isn't that your name? Why would you tell the world a wrong name?"

Judd didn't have a plausible answer. He could tell the boy he was drunk and being an idiot, but he didn't. "No, I mean, just call me Judd. Everyone does."

"So I don't need to call you Mr. Heston. You said on the song to call you Mr. Heston."

"Only when it matters. For now, call me Judd."

"When does it matter?"

"Um…" Judd stumbled for an answer and blurted out. "Let me think on that one."

"Where's your guitar?"

"It's in the car. I left it there. It's not far, I just wanted to get here." He took his phone from the charger and sat back down at the table.

The boy had a point. Judd needed to search for answers. What happened, what could cause it, was it only America, or was it all over the world? Plausible explanations could be found in the news or some science article. However, to discover the scope of the event, he had to rely on witnesses. There had to be others... The world revolved around the internet. It was still up for the time being. If he himself posted, someone else may have, too. He just had to look. Judd did just that while he sat with Dawson eating their breakfast.


The sound of nothing and smell of coffee caused Morgan to open her eyes. At first she thought she was late for work. She probably slept through the alarm clock and the auto brew on her coffee pot had long since made its pot.

'Shit', she thought. "I can't be late again. I'll get fired."

As soon as she jumped to a sitting position, a pain like she never felt cut through her side and she gasped hard, trying to catch her breath.

Her head throbbed and her forehead burned and felt tight, as did her cheeks and nose. She reached up to her head and felt a bandage. She pulled away her fingers and stared at her hand. It was bruised and brush burned. Then she remembered, the car accident. It all came back to her. The crash, the near death experience.

She was injured, from the feel of her body, she took quite a jolt. But where was the noise of the hospital? The beeping, the occasional paging of a doctor. She checked out both arms, where was the IV?

Then she took in her surroundings. She wasn't in a bed, she was on a leather couch, a hard-brown blanket covered her. Forcing beyond the pain, she sat up more. There were chairs, a coffee table and a huge reception desk.

Something wasn't right. She remembered being rescued, pulled from the car. Why wasn't she in a hospital?

Who would do this to her? Had some sick, psycho kidnapped her?

Through the corner of her eye she spotted her purse on the coffee table. It hurt her ribs when she moved her legs, surely at least one rib was broken. The pain was horrendous.

She managed to place her feet on the floor, then while securing her ribs, she reached for her purse. It hurt to reach, she inched her rear to the edge of the couch, grasping the strap. The weight of the purse pulled at her and she cringed hard in pain.

She lifted it to the couch and reached inside, feeling around until she felt her phone.

The screen was cracked, yet she was able to wake it from sleep mode.

She looked around, no one was there that she could see. Morgan could run, make an escape, the front door with a closed blind, was ten feet away, but she couldn't move. At least not fast enough, not in her condition. She selected the call pad and dialed 911.

What would she tell them?

'Hello, I was in a car accident. I think it was a couple hours ago and I have been kidnapped. I don't know where I am.'

It sounded insane but it was the truth. She hit the 'send' button to call 911.

It rang.

It kept on ringing and finally after twenty rings a recording answered informing her to hold.

"What?" she asked, breathless and in disbelief. She ended that call and immediately called Craig. That was the first person she could think to call. His phone went directly to voice mail.

"Craig," she gushed emotionally. "It's me. I need your help. This is not a ploy. I was in an accident. Someone…" she looked up when the front door opened.

The man was a mere shadow with the sun behind him, then he stepped inside.

"Hey, you're up," he said. "That's a good sign. I'm glad." He removed a cloth from his face, and with him was some sort of odor she could smell as he came closer. She didn't recognize it though.

Then she got a look at him and the police uniform.

He was still wearing it, but had the shirt unbuttoned, exposing a white tee shirt.

"I made coffee. Electricity is still on. Did you want a cup? Are you up for drinking it, or would you prefer water?" he asked.

Morgan didn't answer, she scooted back on the couch and brought her hand to her mouth. "What is that smell?"

"Something that can't be avoided. Let me get you coffee." He walked by her and into the back of the building.

Morgan immediately dialed the phone again, she'd go through her contacts if she had to.

"I was trying to find a boat, but that was out. Trying to find some way out of the city," he said from the back. "I think I found a clear path. We may have to switch cars every…" he stopped talking when he returned. He handed her the coffee cup, which Morgan didn't take. "That isn't going to work." He took the phone. "No one is there."

"I'm calling for help."

"Won't work."

"Take the coffee." He set it on the table. "How are you feeling? How is your head?" he reached for her.

She jumped back. "Please. Let me go. Don't hurt me and I won't tell a soul."

He laughed at her, a soft chuckle. "Morgan, I am not…"

"How do you know my name?"

"Your license."

"Why am I here?" Morgan asked. Her heart raced out of control. "Why am I not in a hospital or home?"

"Yesterday when…"

"Yesterday?" Morgan asked in shock.

"Oh wow," he said softly. "Shit, I figured you knew, or remembered."

Morgan shook her head.

"Morgan, what's the last thing you remember before you crashed the car."

Morgan closed her eyes to think, it took a while. "I was fighting with my husband. I …. had an anxiety attack or something and I crashed. I crashed because I had an anxiety attack."

"Anxiety attack. Describe it," he said.

"My throat closed up. I don't know… I couldn't breathe, that's all I remember, then the crash."

"So like me, it affected you. I just can't figure out why we pulled through."

"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked. "What does all this have to do with me being here with you, Officer…?"

"Ross. Call me Ross." He reached out his hand.

"Don't touch me." Morgan panicked.

"Morgan, I swear to almighty God I am not here to hurt you. I may be the only person right now you have. Can you walk?"

Suddenly, Morgan got an eerie feeling. "What's going on?"

"You didn't cause your crash, Morgan. I can tell you… but I think you need to see." He still extended his hand. "Please."

Reluctantly, Morgan took it and he helped her to stand. "What hurts?" he asked.

"Everything."

"You'll have that when you get smashed by several cars." Holding on to her arm, Ross helped her to the door. "Listen." He paused before pulling open the door. "You need to hold your breath, or cover your nose, okay? It's bad and it has just started."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hold your breath," he instructed and opened the door.

She didn't. She should have.

A horrible stench pummeled her, like rotting fish in the fridge mixed with a burning scent, it made her eyes water and she covered her nose and mouth when she started to gag.

"It'll get worse."

Once she got a hold of her senses, Morgan looked around.

Every single car had crashed in one way or another, some into each other, some into buildings. There was a thick haze in the air that looked like smoke. Her eyes widened and watered. "Oh my God. Were we attacked?"

Ross shook his head. "No. It's bigger than that. Much bigger."

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly. Still trying to figure it out. But I have a feeling, all this…" he said, moving his hand about, pointing to the death. "Is just the beginning."


The website was informative, and after downloading 'How to Survive the Apocalypse, by Frank Slagel' Judd began the task of printing up the book. Dawson grabbed him a three ring binder from his father's office, then went off to find his shoes.

Judd remembered the days of being a kid and losing his shoes, but as an adult, he never understood how that was possible.

How does a person lose their shoes in their own house?

Dawson's search gave Judd time to explore his mother's computer. It was easier to search on a desktop than his phone. But no new news had posted on social media, there hadn't been a new post in over twenty-four hours, and even his 'Call Me Mr. Heston' video only had three views.

The search for others out there was difficult, Judd knew they had to be there. Him and Dawson weren't, and couldn't be, the only ones.

Aside from printing up that book, he was productive in other ways. A simple snoop job through his mother's desk led him to his father's business card. If the information was up to date, Bill Dawson Montgomery worked as an assistant branch manager at a bank not far from Dawson's house.

His mother Rita, Judd learned was a visual arts teacher at the local high school. She also had an email in her draft folder writing to some child psychologist about how special Dawson was. She never finished and Judd guessed he'd eventually figure out what that 'special' thing meant, since Dawson and him were now survival partners.

Judd mapped the route out to find Dawson's folks. In fact, he abandoned the car not far from the bank.

That was as far as he planned, he and Dawson hadn't talked much about what was beyond searching out his parents. He supposed they had time to talk about it later. Judd also needed time to study the survival guide.

He tried again on social media, this time trying keywords and selecting all posts. He went to the Bird site and searched chirps and tried there. Judd tackled every combination of words he could think of from 'Everyone is dead' to 'Is anyone alive'.

Nothing.

"Hey, Dawson, you find your shoes yet?" Judd called out. Not that he was in a hurry to take the child to find his parents. While there was a chance his parents lived, Judd doubted it and hoped that he could get Dawson to change his mind before he was face to face, literally, with the truth.

"Found them. Be right down." He yelled from upstairs.

"Take your time," Judd replied. He turned to check the printer, and grabbed some of the pages.

"I'm ready." Dawson announced as he entered his mother's office.

"Just getting these together."

"We're coming back, right?" Dawson asked. "I'm sure my mom just needs someone to help her get home. You said cars were all over the place."

"They are and we will. We'll come back." Judd set the papers aside. 'Dawson, are you sure this is something you want to do?"

"I need to find my mom and dad. I have to."

Judd nodded. More than anything he wanted to tell the child, 'you know it may not end well, you know chances are….' He couldn't bring himself to say it. He'd cross the bridge when he got there.

"Wouldn't you want to find your parents?" Dawson asked.

He had a point. Didn't matter if a person was eight or thirty-eight, if Judd's parents were out there, he too would need to see for himself what became of them.

"You're right," Judd said. "Okay, let's…" he stopped and looked at the screen.

"What?" Dawson asked. "What is it?"

"Oh my God."

"What?"

The search result page of the Bird site was up, but now when Judd looked an orange banner stated, 'One new chirp'.

"Shit, someone just chirped. It matched my query."

"It matched your what?" Dawson asked.

"I put in search words, some posted something just now that matched it."

"What does it say?"

Judd moved the mouse to click on it, but stopped. "Shoot. What if it's a scheduled chirp? I do those all the time. We can't get our hopes up."

"We can't know until you look. What's it say?"

Judd clicked on it. It was timestamped one minute earlier. Posted by a user name Ray of Sunshine. It simply said, "Is anyone else alive out there?"

When they read it, both of them cheered with excitement. Judd didn't know where Ray of Sunshine was and he didn't even bother to look. He simply, without hesitation, replied 'Yes', and sat back with Dawson right at his side and waited to hear back.


"And that's it," Ross explained. "Since I brought you in here, I spent the last twenty-four hours searching for survivors, calling out, trying to find a way out of the city. We need to get out of here. You think it smells bad now, wait until later."

"I don't know how well I'll be able to walk."

"Unfortunately, you're gonna have to. At least until after the bridge. This thing hit in the middle of the day."

"This is unreal. I'm in shock, and that…" Morgan cringed. "That came out really emotionless."

"It's hard to feel anything. I know, I'm just not wanting to think too much about it. However, I'm one of those people who can't let sleeping dogs lie. I got to figure out what's going on. Do you have family? I'm taking it you don't have children?"

"No." Morgan shook her head. "No kids. I had my husband, but he left me."

"Don't have that to worry about anymore."

"Seems very small now in light of this all. How about you?" Morgan asked. "Family?"

"A whole slew. Parents, siblings, a beautiful wife and…" Ross paused, he swallowed. "Two girls. I need to get to my house. I live about four miles from here. At Greenfield."

"Ross, why didn't you go?" she asked. "You should have gone. You could have walked."

"Yeah, I could have." He lowered his head. "I've seen what's out there. If my family is alive, then they're fine and they're staying put. But if God forbid they aren't, and I left you here, I left the one person I knew for sure was alive. I didn't know if you were well enough to leave. I couldn't let you die when you were lucky enough to be alive."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, yet. I'm thinking by tomorrow, you should be strong enough to start walking."

"I can try now if you want."

"No, let's give you a little more time to get better. Besides, a part of me is scared to go to my house and see." He stood up. "I know we can't wait. Fires are out of control out there. My guess is people were cooking, stoves were on, and no one was there to shut them off. This place will keep burning."

"The electricity still works. Did you check the internet?"

"Oh, yeah, been off and on it all night. I found an interesting article. Small news piece, seems contact was lost with the Marshall Islands almost a full day before everything happened here."

"What do you mean contact was lost?" Morgan asked.

"Didn't say much, just that had no response from air traffic, or phone lines. All planes were cancelled. I guess it hit everywhere before Marshall Islands could become big news."

"So do you think this hit there first?"

"It's a guess. Just a guess. If this is a natural event and not manmade, then it very easily could have followed the earth's rotation. Marshall Islands is in the first time zone. Again…" he walked over to the receptionist's desk. "I'm guessing. Everything is theory."

"Well, then give me your theory on what's happening. You said earlier it was just the beginning."

"I think it is. I want to research more before we lose everything on line. It could be anything, Morgan," Ross said. "An atmospheric blip, something from space, who knows. More or less I'm gonna call it the Swifter event."

Morgan's mouth formed an 'O' as she started to speak, but paused to catch her wording. "I'm sorry. Maybe it's the head injury. You said 'Swifter', I think the cleaning mop."

"Yeah, that's what I mean. Ever see the commercials?" Ross asked. "Pretty anal person about their house broom sweeps the floor, ding dong, here's a box with a new mop with a white cloth, gets everything you missed?"

Morgan nodded.

"Think of natural disasters, disease, war, that's fate broom sweeping. Ding dong, a box was just dropped off and Mother Nature is pulling out the Swifter. The choke and drop thing was the first swoosh."

Even though it physically hurt her, Morgan chuckled. "You know they work, but they still miss particles and push them to the sides."

"Yep. That's part of my theory, we're the pushed aside particles. However, eventually with another swoop, she'll get it all."

"If every dropping was the first swoosh, I hate to think what the next will be. I appreciate your theories, but I really hope your wrong."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."


Ray of Sunshine never responded, despite how quickly after his post Judd had made a comment. They waited and nothing happened, finally, Judd sent one more message stating that they'd be away for an hour or so and left his phone number.

He and Dawson ventured out, aiming for the car which was not far from the bank. The entire walk, Judd just wanted to keep an eye out for a clear route back to Dawson's street, because his road was off of Broad Avenue, a main road which was pretty blocked.

The temperature was oddly high for April, pushing what Judd thought was about eighty. Much warmer than the day before. The heat caused an incredible stench to the air. Dawson had to run back into the house not ten seconds after the first time out the door.

Judd grabbed a cloth, doused it with air freshener, put the can in his back pocket and they left again.

"Did you want to see Mr. Westerman?" Dawson asked, as they walked.

"No, I'll pass."

"It's pretty sick."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Why is it so hot?"

"I don't know," Judd replied. "Maybe because there are so many fires in town. Lots of smoke you know."

"You gonna grab your guitar?"

"I'd like to."

"Why do you think that Ray guy didn't get back to us? You think he's dead?"

"I don't know."

"I had a dream everyone dropped dead."

Judd stopped walking. "That's a pretty intense dream for an eight year old. Bet you were scared."

"Not as scared as I was when it happened. I kept thinking it was a dream, a joke, the kids were pranking me. They weren't. Why is the sky so weird?"

"What?" Judd's head spun. "What are you talking about?"

"The sky looks weird."

"It's probably the smoke."

"Doesn't look like smoke."

"It's smoke," Judd looked up quickly, took a step, stopped and looked up again. Dawson was right. The sky was so bright, the clouds were orange and the blue portion looked almost pink behind them. Judd's eyes burned after only a few seconds of peering up. "Okay, I don't know what's causing it, just don't look anymore."

"Why?"

Judd grew tired of replying with, "I don't know." so he shrugged.

They made it to where they left the car. Again, Judd looked around seeing how he could move the car closer to Dawson's house, he believed he could get it nearer by taking a side street.

The car was so hot inside it was suffocating. Judd wound down all the windows, plugged the phone into the charger and pulled up the address of Rita's work.

The bank, however was only a few blocks away and they made it there in a few seconds.

Outside, Dawson sat in the car and stared at the First National Bank.

"Do you know if this is the place your dad works?"

Dawson nodded, opened the car door and stepped out.

Judd looked at his face, he looked so brave, heaving in a deep breath into his small body.

"You okay?" Judd asked.

"I think… I think we don't need to go in there," Dawson said. "Look around. He's gonna be like everyone else. If he wasn't, he would have been home."

Judd placed his hand on Dawson's shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. "I'm going to go in and check, okay? Just so we know. You all right with staying out here?"

Dawson nodded and Judd went into the branch.

He preferred to wait outside, Dawson was sure of his father's fate. Not far from the big glass window, Dawson stood staring at the bank. His eyes teetered between focusing on seeing inside and looking at his own reflection.

It was weird. He could see himself and all the crashed cars around him. Just as focused on trying to see Judd, he saw something move behind him.

Dawson gasped in shock and spun around. Nothing was there. His heart started to beat and he faced the window again, only to hear something drop.

It caused him to jump and Dawson screamed out. "Judd! Judd!"

He wasn't going to wait and ran straight to the door, grabbing for it at the same time Judd stepped out.

"What's wrong?" Judd asked.

"I heard and saw something." Dawson grabbed on to him.

"Where? What did you see?"

"Something. I don't know. I was looking at the window. It was back there." Dawson pointed across the street.

"I don't see anything. Maybe you saw a bit of me inside."

"Maybe."

Pause.

Dawson looked up to Judd. "Did you see him? Did you find my dad?"

Judd bit his bottom lip and placed his hand on Dawson's head. "Yeah, buddy, I did. I'm sorry."

Dawson nodded, sadly. "I thought so. Let's go." He wasn't giving up hope. There was still his mother. He walked to the car, but not without looking back one more time to see if anything, or anyone was there.

The lady's voice on the phone gave them directions that took them close to his mother's school. They left the car about a block away and walked the rest of the way there.

"This is it. This is the school," Dawson said. "I've been here with my mom. I know her class. She brought me here on take your kid to work day."

"That's pretty cool. Your mom seems like a nice lady. I mean she does like my videos."

Dawson was optimistic. In his mind he kept thinking his mother just stayed to protect the kids, she didn't want to leave them alone. Judd had to break the glass on the front doors, they were locked. Dawson took that as a sign they were protecting themselves from the undead. He didn't once let it enter his mind that she wasn't fine and sitting in her classroom.

Not once.

Until they walked through the main doors, caught the overwhelming rotten smell and saw the teenage girl hanging by a belt from the railing of the upper stairwell.

She had clearly taken her own life.

Before he could react, Judd grabbed onto him, trying to shield him, but something inside of Dawson fought it. He broke free of Judd's hold and ran.

"Mom!" he called out as he raced up the stairs. "Mom!" his mother's classroom was on the second floor and Dawson didn't stop.

"Dawson! Wait," Judd yelled.

Dawson didn't. He got to the second floor, ran down the hall to the last room on the left. "Mom!"

His shoes squeaked on the linoleum as he came to an abrupt halt.

There were no students in the room. He caught his breath, felt a little better, believed the room to be empty until he saw his mother laying in the back of the room.

"Dawson." Judd said out of breath.

"Mom?" Dawson ran to her and slid to the floor. His mother was on her side. "Mom?" He shook her. "Mom, wake up." He knew by looking at her that she was dead, but he couldn't accept it. Maybe she was in some deep sleep.

Judd reached for him. 'Dawson, I'm sorry."

Dawson swiped away his hand. "Mom? Mommy? Mom!"

Judd sat down next to him. "Come on, Buddy."

It started with a simple rebellious, "No." Then he repeated it over and over, louder each time until every emotion raged out of control and Dawson screamed continuously.

He didn't want it to be happening. He didn't want it to be true. But it was.

His mother was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.


Judd was at a loss. There was absolutely nothing he could do for Dawson, except let him go. It was painful to watch and brought back memories of when Judd found his own mother when she died of an aneurism.

He stayed on the floor with Dawson, until the boy said he was ready.

"We can't leave her like that," Dawson said. "We can't."

"Do you want me to bury her?" Judd asked. "I can get a shovel…"

"No. Can you move her from the floor. Maybe put her at her desk."

"Sure. I can do that." Judd had Dawson step aside and he lifted Rita. She had already been decomposing and her body was swollen and heavy. He carried her to the front of the room and placed her in her chair.

Dawson walked up to her and whispered. "Bye, Mom." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "She's so cold."

"I can bury her, Dawson."

Dawson shook his head and ran out of the room. In fact he kept on running. Judd listened to his feet as they pounded the floor, fast and furious.

He waited outside for Judd.

"I'm not going to ask if you're all right," Judd said. "I know you're not. Let's go." He placed his hand on Dawson's back.

"When we get back I think I'm just gonna go to my room, if that's okay?"

"Sure, Buddy, that's fine."

They didn't speak on the walk to the car, and Dawson stayed quiet with his head against the car door as they drove. He said only one sentence, "Don't forget your guitar."

Judd managed to get closer to Dawson's road than he did the previous day. On the other side of Broad Avenue and one street down, Judd parked the car, stuck his phone in his pocket, grabbed his guitar, strapped it to his back and walked slowly with Dawson.

As they approached the end of the street, just near Broad, Dawson's head lifted, then Judd saw. A man stood there on the corner.

With a smile, Judd looked at Dawson. "Another survivor." He tugged his arm and both of them, excitedly ran toward the man facing the other side of the street, as if waiting to cross.

"Hey!" Judd called out. "Hey!"

A few feet from him, the man turned around. He was a bigger guy, heavy, his face was sweaty and red from the heat. His thinning hair was a mess and he wore a dirty and dampened mechanic's uniform from a tire shop, the name 'Chuck' was embroidered on his chest.

"Oh, man," Judd said. "Are we glad to see you. We thought we were the only ones alive."

The man just stared at him, he didn't respond. Judd thought at first, he was in shock.

"Judd…" Judd extended his hand. "This is…" he withdrew his hand.

The man had a flat expression, staring at Judd, not blinking, not saying a word, showing no emotions, or even comprehension. There was something about him that sent a chill through Judd. Maybe he was in shock, but Judd wasn't waiting around.

He swept Dawson into his arms. "Let's go." And, after side stepping, Judd kept an eye on Tire Man, as he crossed the street with Dawson and picked up the pace.

Tire Man slowly rotated his body and watched them.

"Where we going?" Dawson asked. "What about that man?"

Judd didn't answer, he just kept going.

"Wait. You missed my street. Where are we going?"

Judd only told Dawson to be quiet until he made it far enough away. Then he cut through the back yards of houses to get to Dawson's street. He didn't want Tire Man to follow.

"Why did we leave him?"

"Shh." Judd set him down and whispered.

"Why'd we leave him? He was like us."

"No." Judd shook his head. "Didn't you notice? Something was wrong with him."

"Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was hurt."

"Maybe." Judd kept moving toward the house, but he never stopped looking behind them.

No sooner did they step into the house, Dawson slipped back into his sad state. The rush of seeing Tire Man then running from him, had faded and Dawson grabbed the family pictures and went to his room.

Dawson may have forgotten about Tire Man quickly, but Judd didn't. In fact, Judd had what he thought was an irrational reaction. He locked every door and window in the house, pulled the blinds, and cranked up the air conditioning. He checked on Dawson frequently and made him something to eat. He could hear the boy crying, but every time Judd knocked, Dawson pretended he was alright. Before eight PM, Dawson had fallen asleep.

Judd wasn't tired. He nursed a beer and sat in front of the computer staring at Ray of Sunshine's Bird account.

He wondered about the man who made the chirp, but his mind was never far from Tire Man. Who was he? What was wrong with him? Maybe the man was so shocked by the events that he didn't know how to react, or what if he were deaf and Judd just ran from him?

He rocked back and forth, staring at the screen, most of the lights in the house were out. It was quiet for the longest time, until the wind started picking up outside causing a steady rattling on the window next to the desk.

It was hypnotic, and Judd was obsessed with refreshing the Bird site.

"Reply, chirp, something." Judd stared.

Buzz. Ring.

Judd jumped a foot in the air, tipping back the chair and nearly toppling his beer when his phone rang and spun from the vibration on the desk.

With a sweep of his hand, Judd snatched up the phone, not even looking at the number. He answered the phone, just as a loud 'crack' of thunder caused him to jolt again.

"Hello."

"Judd?" the male voice asked.

"Oh my God. Yes, is this Ray of Sunshine?"

"Don't feel much like sunshine at this moment, you?"

Judd sat down. Unless Ray was visiting from abroad, his clear Australian accent told Judd he wasn't anywhere close.

"No." Judd rubbed his eyes. "No sunshine here. Where are you?"

"Osborne Park, Perth? You? Obviously American."

"Ohio." Judd exhaled, calming his nerves. Lightning flashed, four times, and a few seconds later, the thunder blasted. "I can't tell you how glad I am someone else is alive. Are you alone?"

"Not anymore. I found a few. You?"

"Just me and a little boy."

"Bet it was bad there, when it happened. Middle of the day."

"Yeah, it was, people fell off of buildings and cars crashed, I don't know how many people died that way."

"We were lucky, it happened here at 10:37 at night. We weren't the first though. Did you hear?"

"Man, I haven't heard anything. I can't find out anything."

"A shift started east of here. New Zealand, Marshall Islands, good day before it hit here. We were told about it."

"A shift? What do you mean?"

Judd pulled the phone away from his ear, when the storm grew louder outside, causing a hiss of static.

"Hello?" Judd called out. "Ray?"

"Here. Connection is getting bad. I'll try to stay in touch. Have you got the storms there yet, Mate?"

Judd glanced toward the window. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"They're everywhere," Ray said, the sound of his voice dancing in and out of static. "They're bad. Stay clear of the windows. Check the satellite feeds. Keep on top."

"Listen…"

"I have to go. Have to get secure now. Watch out for the…" A rush of line noise and the call went dead.

"What out for the what?" Judd asked. "Ray? Ray?"

Nothing.

Judd looked at the phone, the call had dropped. At least he had Ray's number to try and reach him again. He set down the phone and moved his chair closer to the computer. He didn't have any idea what Ray meant about checking the satellite feeds, and he deduced the warning was about storms.

He opened the internet, pulled up a search bar and searched for live satellite feeds.

Surprisingly, the government had a live satellite map. He learned something new.

When the image appeared, Judd didn't know what he was looking at. In fact, he thought something was wrong, because the image looked like one big swipe mark of purple and red.

It flickered, then went black.

"Swell."

The room lit up with the flash of lightening again, and suddenly it sounded like someone was running a garden hose against the window.

"You aren't shitting me, the storm is bad." Judd stood and parted the blind. He couldn't see anything because of the bush that blocked the window. He finished off the beer and went to the kitchen for another. While there, he checked the kitchen drawers and found a flashlight on the counter. The storm was loud and picked up in severity. The last time he heard wind like that, the stage was swept away. With that thought, he set down his beer and flashlight on top of the railing post and went upstairs to Dawson's room.

"Hey," he called out softly. "You awake?"

Dawson didn't answer.

He walked to the bed and listened for the sounds of his breathing, then blanket and all, he lifted Dawson and carried him downstairs just to be safe.

He placed the boy on the couch, then walked over to retrieve his beer. The second the beer touched his lips, the lights went out.

Judd turned on the flashlight. It didn't give off that much light, but then again, Judd didn't need it. The lightning was intense and the sound of water against the windows went from a garden hose to buckets.

"This is insane," Judd said. "How bad is this storm?"

Even though Ray warned him Judd walked over to the big living room window. He had to see what was going on out there.

He separated the blinds wide enough to peek out. As soon as he did, lightning flashed four times, long and strong. It not only brightened the entire street like daylight, but it illuminated the frightening sight of Tire Man standing in the torrential downpour in the front yard, not moving and staring straight at Judd.


There was no healing time, none at all, and Morgan's pain was worse. She was fine during the night when she shifted and moved in the computer chair, but once she was still for that brief sleep period, the pain was atrocious. Her head was better, every other appendage as well. It was her ribs. It looked like two of them on the right side were broken or cracked. Each breath hurt. She would have never imagined the pain.

She balked at all of Ross' suggestions, she'd ride it out with ibuprofen and follow the advice she got on line. Everything he suggested, with the exception of deep breathing practice, was old world and proven by medical experts to be incorrect methods of treating broken ribs.

When they had to move and do so quickly, she relinquished the fight and raised her arms, as best as she could… literally.

Ross had been there, he himself broke a rib when he was younger playing baseball. He knew the pain and the treatment. He also knew what worked, and he told her so.

He had told her he suspected right away her ribs were broken and with that, had the foresight when he got supplies, he picked up bandages, pain pills and antibiotics.

Morgan hadn't taken anything more than an ibuprofen.

"I don't want to get pneumonia," she told him. "Binding causes that."

"It won't if you deep breathe and take the antibiotics. I'm not a doctor, but I know what works and what will make you feel better."

After he wrapped them Morgan realized he was right. They did feel better bound and stabilized, plus it didn't take long for that pill to kick in. It didn't make her drowsy either, it took away her fear of going outside.

Of that, she was terrified.

She spent most of the evening and night on the computer while Ross slept. She looked up everything and anything that she could think of related to what occurred. In fact, Morgan was certain she had figured it out. Or at least she was in the ball park.

Her job before everyone dropped was a risk analysist. Ever since she was a child, she planned and thought everything through, to the point it was unnerving to people.

She was always that person that said, "If we do this, then this and that could happen."

Spontaneity wasn't in her vocabulary… ever.

She even planned their best route to get to Greenfield if they had to walk, and where they could possibly get a car and which back streets they could take that might not be blocked by crashed cars.

She wrote everything down, in case her phone died, and would have furthered her research had the power not gone out with the storm.

She had expected the storm, although not as severe, and unfortunately more was going to happen. Ross was right on that, just his reasoning why was skewed. She planned to talk to him about it, after they made it to Greenfield. She figured he needed to be in the right frame of mind for his family search.

All that went out the window when he woke her up with urgency. "We need to move. We need to move now."

She looked at her watch, it was barely daylight.

It hurt to lift her arm. "What's going on?"

"As soon as it's light enough to safely walk, we have to go. Hopefully, it'll hold. Let's get you ready."

She didn't know what ready meant, and she shook her head when he pulled out the bandage to bind her, then she felt the pain.

"I can't have that," Ross said. "You have to be strong and you're gonna have to move fast, this is the best way."

The pain was unbearable to even sit, but she'd managed.

"Stand up."

"What is going on?" Morgan asked as she staggered to a stand. When she did, her feet squished on the damp carpet and she lifted her head.

Ross stepped aside, walked to the door and lifted the blind.

"Oh my God." Morgan nearly fell backwards.

They were so close to the river, that had to be the reason. The storm was worse than she imagined. Water had come up to the door at least three feet. The seal was holding it, allowing only a bit of water to seep through, but a crack was forming on the glass.

"I went to the top floor," Ross said. "It looks about this deep for a while. I couldn't see too far. The back is the only way out. This gives us the street."

"How in the hell are we going to do this."

"Carefully," Ross replied.

That was when he wrapped her.

They didn't have much as far as belongings, just her purse. She placed her pills and notes in a plastic garbage bag and shoved it in her purse. In the employee break room there was a drawer full of those plastic grocery store bags. Using tape, they both wrapped their feet in them.

"I figured the water is at least three feet deep. When I open this door, that pressure is going to be bad," Ross explained. "you're not in any shape to fight that current."

"Okay …. So what choice do I have?"

Ross pointed to the receptionist desk. "You'll get up there, hold tight to the ledge, Just in case."

The desk had a lip that was a foot or so above the surface. It was a difficult climb and her feet slid from the plastic. Ross aided her up there and sat on top, holding the ledge. He walked to the door.

"Ready?" he asked.

Morgan nodded.

He appeared to be bracing his footing. One hand on the door handle, the other reached for the deadbolt. The moment he turned the lock, the need to open the door was lost and Ross wasn't ready. The pressure of the water blasted the door open, sending him flying back. He bounced off the desk and the current rushed under his feet, sweeping him across the reception area into a wall.

"Ross!"

He managed to grab the archway and hold on. His legs moved with the water as his fingers barely gripped.

Morgan felt helpless. Bodies sailed in with the water at a high speed. One hit into Ross, he lost his grip and he washed away with the water.

"Ross!" Morgan screamed.

Within a minute, the water calmed when it reached the height of the water outside.

"Ross!" she screamed again. After she lowered to her hands and knee, Morgan began to climb down. Her first thought was to find him and hope he hadn't drown.

"I'm okay!" he yelled in the distance. "I'll be right there."

She lowered her head in gratefulness. She listened to the splashing of the water and knew that was Ross making his way to her.

"Are you all right?" She asked when she saw him.

"Yeah, knocked the wind out of me." He coughed. "You ready to do this?"

Morgan nodded and Ross helped her from the desk. The water felt strange, almost slimy. Morgan adjusted the strap to her bag to lift it higher. The water came to her mid-thigh and it was hard to walk. Once outside, it was water as far as she could see. It appeared as if a city was in a shallow lake.

Bodies floated everywhere. Most of them face down. It was like walking through a pond filled with lily pads, only the green leaves of nature were replaced with earth's most precious commodity… people. Morgan tried not to look, it wasn't their bodies that disturbed her, it was the fact they lost their lives. People like her, who went to work, had families, loved… now everything about them, every memory they held was gone.

She couldn't move without bumping into one, despite Ross leading the way, moving them aside.

Even though he announced when she needed to watch her footing. Bodies were still trapped in cars, and she grew squeamish when she would nudge against a limb. Pushing through the water was slow and trudging. The pace would be a hindrance, but they had to keep going. The smell was a stew of many rotten things. The water wasn't cold, and the weather was still stifling hot. There was a heavy overcast to the day filled with dark gray clouds that looked violent. It was humid, very humid and sticky. They had to keep moving. They needed to get deeper into the city and away from the river, at the very least get to a higher ground or overpass. It wouldn't be long before another storm arrived.


The last thing Dawson recalled was holding on to his family picture, clutching it tight to his chest while watching the video of his family at Cedar Point the year before. He watched that video over and over. He heard his mother's voice and he needed that. It was hard for him to believe that he would never see them again. They were gone.

He fell asleep covered by his favorite gray blanket, his iPad by his head propped on his pillow. When he woke up, he was still covered, still holding that picture, and sweaty, only he was on the couch. He had been dreaming about fishing with some man he didn't know, and when he woke up calling out, "Branson!" he tumbled to the floor.

It wasn't bright in the living room, and he wondered if he slept the day away.

"You all right?" Judd stepped into the living room.

"Yes. Why am I down here?" Dawson asked.

"Bad storm last night, I just didn't want you upstairs, in case the house got struck by lightning or something. I can't believe you slept through it."

"Why is it so dark?" Dawson asked.

"The power went out."

"Will it come back on?"

"I doubt it, Bud. It takes someone to flip the switch. I don't think anyone is going to do that. Are you hungry?" he asked. "You didn't eat last night."

"A little."

"Come to the kitchen. We need to also talk about what we're going to do."

Judd walked away. Dawson didn't know what he was talking about. He looked at the picture still clutched in his arms, placed it on the coffee table and went to the kitchen.

He could feel the fresh air breeze when he stepped inside. It wasn't that cool though. But it was air that had a smell to it.

"It stinks." Dawson covered his nose.

"You kind of get used to it."

Judd sat at the kitchen table, there was a ton of food spread out. Most from the fridge and freezer.

"What's going on?"

"Gonna have to cook this all up today. This is what we're gonna eat. The other stuff, the cans, boxes, that can wait. This is stuff that didn't go bad."

"How you going to cook it if there's no electricity?" Dawson sat at the table.

"I can get the stove working with a match."

Dawson lifted the flat box of pizza bagels. "How you gonna make these?"

Judd took the box. "I'll figure it out."

"Hey, Judd, you said we have to talk about what we're gonna do. What did you mean?"

"It means." Judd stopped sorting out food and folded his hands on the table. "We need to figure out our next move. We can't stay here."

"Why not?"

"Power is out. It's only gonna get hotter. We're in for some crazy weather and it looks like it's not gonna stop for a spell."

"So why we leaving in bad weather?"

"We'll wait. Tomorrow, later today. Hopefully it breaks enough. I wanna take the car far enough to get another. But we need to leave. We need water. We have enough bottle water…"

"We can go to the store. There's one right up the street."

Judd shook his head. "That's immediate, pal. We need to think long term survival. Chapter two of that book, water, food and shelter."

"We have them all. Isn't this food." Dawson pointed to the array on the table.

Judd smiled at him. "We have to look beyond all this. You and I… we're alive. We need to stay that way. Do you have any family other than your mom and dad?"

"I have an aunt somewhere. Not around here. You want to take me there?"

"No, I thought maybe that could be a goal. We need a goal. Something to follow, to focus on. That way we can look for a place on the way. I'm thinking where we can live off the land."

"Isn't there enough food out there? People have food in their houses, we can take that."

Judd inhaled and stared. "I suppose we can." He stood up. "You want the pizza bagels?"

"Whatever you want to make."

"How about the frozen pancakes, they're almost thawed anyhow." Judd lifted them and walked to the stove. He grabbed a pan.

"I don't want to leave, Judd. I don't want to leave my house."

"I know. I really do and we can pack a bag of stuff you want to take. I think your mom and dad would want you to go where it's safe."

"How do you know this isn't safe?" Dawson asked.

Judd put the pan on the stove and turned around. "I don't. But Ray of Sunshine said…"

"You talked to Ray?"

"He called last night. I been trying all day to call him, but I want to conserve my phone. Can't charge it until I get in my car."

"What did he say?"

"We were gonna get bad storms, to look up the satellite maps. I did. The whole county is covered with this thick cloud and they weren't moving. Earth looked like it was covered in cotton candy. Last thing he said was he had to get to safety or something."

"What did that mean?"

"I don't know. We lost connection and that storm last night was bad. Trees fell down and there's about six inches of water on the street. If it rains any worse the water might get too high to drive. Chapter four, flooding, he said not to drive if the water is moving. It seems to be moving. I think it's moving, but am not totally sure."

Dawson jumped from the table.

"Whoa, hey, wait, where are you going?" Judd grabbed his arm.

"I wanna see."

"You don't need to see."

"Sure I do." Dawson pulled away.

"Dawson, don't…"

Before he could finish, a slight rumble vibrated the kitchen. It lasted about twenty seconds.

"What was that?" Dawson asked.

"I don't know." Judd answered softly.

"Maybe it's a rescue truck."

"It's not a rescue truck."

"I'm gonna go see. I also want to see the flood."

"Dawson," Judd said strong. "You don't need to…"

Dawson didn't listen. Judd said the street had water, and a tree fell down. He had never seen anything like that. He ran to the living room and pulled on the door. It was locked. After undoing the bolt, he grabbed the handle and pulled.

"Dawson, don't open that door."

Too late. Dawson opened it. He was rendered breathless for a moment and near ready to scream.

Judd slammed the door and locked it, placing his body against it.

"Judd, why is that mechanic man standing in the yard?"

"I don't know. That's why I didn't want you to open the door. I didn't want you to get scared."

"Are you?"

"Heck yeah," Judd said.

"How long has he been out there?" Dawson asked.

"All night."

"All night!"

Judd facially cringed. "I know. I know. I'll handle him." He walked over and peeked out the blind. "Just got to figure out how and why."