From the Author
The end of the world had come.
Finally.
Rachel hadn't had a solid night's sleep in twenty-three months, three weeks and two days. An hour, maybe two a night for the last two years. Twenty-four hour news flickered on the TV.
Crisp May air breezed through the open windows. Rachel tucked the blanket tighter under her chin and readjusted her legs on the couch cushions. Restless leg syndrome would be a perfect excuse for her sleeplessness, but couldn't be further from the truth. Her legs weren't restless. She was.
The news anchor returned from commercial. Rachel turned up the volume. A squared picture flashed of burning buildings and gaping crevices. The older woman on screen sighed, weariness covering her lack of surprise. "Another earthquake in the string of disasters to the west coast struck an hour ago in Ellensburg, Washington. The Washington coastline has now been decimated to the middle of the state. Experts project a following tsunami to the new islands created from the Cascade Mountains should manifest in the next few hours."
Ellensburg? Mere hours away. Andy had been right.
The camera shifted to the man who shuffled paper. Lifting eyes desensitized to the horrors from recent days, he continued below a new popup screen. "In other news, after almost ten years of closed, high security airspace, the president has released a statement declaring that the airspace over the States is now open. He has requested assistance from other countries. The White House sent his formal request yesterday morning and has yet to receive answers from the NATO countries. The open space is an invitation for any help we can receive. Do not be alarmed if you spot airplanes or helicopters in the air."
A muffled thud sounded from the roof. Rachel muted the TV. And waited. At least she thought she'd heard something. Maybe... Well, maybe she'd slipped into that place between sleep and awake. Or maybe she was finally ready to sleep. It might be the mentioned assistance dropping food and supplies.
Rachel closed her eyes, smiling at the image of care packages dropping to the ground.
Thump! This time from the roof above her. Rachel snapped her eyes open and followed the sound with her gaze until it dropped off the steep grade. An orange glow drifted past the closed vertical blinds. Another. A new thud. Care packages didn't glow... did they?
Rachel escaped the pull of the blanket and knelt at the window. A burnt umber shone around the edges of the blinds. Faded in and out. Maybe young neighbors played with fireworks.
She pushed a few of the slats out of the way and gasped.
Falling debris, some on fire, catapulted from the sky. Large pieces hurtled to the ground while other materials and paper rode the calm May air to settle wherever it wafted. Flames burned out on contact with the grasses and streets, but here and there a small ember took hold on a tree or roof top. Smoke billowed black and white with different fuel.
A scream rent the air.
Rachel scrambled from the couch and shot down the stairs. Out the door, she landed on the grass and froze. Where had it come from? A second shriek slashed from the house next door. Bob and Martha. Rachel ran to the front door and pounded.
The retired gentleman flung the panel open, his white hair tufted here and there. "Rachel. What's going on?" He stuck his head out the door, the fire light revealing his absent hearing aid. "Where's Martha?"
Crackling from the back yard and another scream led Rachel through the gate, Bob trailing behind. Both dodged the increasing onslaught of fiery remnants. A paper bag, the corner curling with flame, slid off Rachel's shoulder. She stepped over a yellow charred chunk of foam in the shape of a small seat. A doll's head, or half of one anyway, rolled on the grass when it landed.
Rounding the corner of the house, Rachel tripped over the cement patio. Damn. Every time she came over, she stumbled over the same protrusion. Good thing she hadn't changed into her robe. The last thing she needed was to fight terry cloth tripping her up.
Finding Martha took a moment with vision limited through the falling debris. By the side fence, behind the rhododendrons, Martha chased her dog, whose tail and lower back had caught fire. Yips filled the air. Burning hair and flesh permeated the smoke trailing from burning paper and wood. The dog's water dish sat on the edge. Rachel picked up the bowl and dumped it on the burning animal.
"Oh no." Martha caught and patted the whimpering lump. She raised her eyes to her husband, tear filled. "Sparkles. He's..."
Bob couldn't hear her, but the pain on his face declared complete understanding.
Andy, Rachel's husband, had a gun. He could put the poor animal down. The kids needed to get up and get out of the house. Speaking as calmly as possible, Rachel approached the woman and touched her shoulder. "Martha, we need to put Sparkles out of his misery. I'll grab Andy. He can do it."
Gray hair, matted at the back, shook as Martha nodded. Rachel's heart ached for her friend. She struggled to keep from sobbing. "I'll be right back."
Sprinting, she returned to her house and bounded up the stairs. "Andy! Wake up. You need to get up." She powered through their bedroom door and grabbed Andy's foot. Hand over hand in the darkened room, she followed the lines of his sheet-covered, toned body and shook his shoulder hard. "Andy!" She yelled. "Andy, wake up! Hurry!"
Her husband didn't open his eyes but brushed her hands from him and rolled over. Rachel glanced toward the doorway. "Wake up, damn it." She grasped his shoulder tighter, ratcheting him back and forth until he turned to face her.
Andy yanked his ear plugs out and sat up. "What? I just fell asleep an hour ago." Bleary, he blinked hard to wake up. "The house better be sinking." He yawned and rubbed his face.
"Andy, things are falling from the sky. Martha's dog caught fire. He... They need you to put him down. Please, hurry." Rachel reached underneath the bed and pulled out Andy's Glock. Snapping the clip into place, she palmed the butt.
Mouth agape, Andy climbed from bed, his boxers low on his hips. He slid his jeans on and his t-shirt followed. Rachel grabbed his arm as he bent to retrieve his socks. "No, you don't have time. We need to go now. They need you." She pulled him to the door and handed him the gun. "Here. I'll get the kids ready. It's time."
"Time?" Confusion gave way to understanding, the softness of sleep hardened to the angles of his masculine features. "Got it. I'll be right back." He snagged a quick kiss, pressing his lips to hers like the world's end had paused just for them.
Andy pounded down the stairs.
Rachel turned to the kids' room. All three shared a room because Andy had opted not to spend any extra money on finishing the downstairs and instead had invested the surplus on supplies which he'd packed for speedy transport.
Cole stood in the doorway, watching her. "Mom? Where's Dad going?"
Hugging her oldest to her, Rachel breathed in deep. Innocence would be shattered. Even as a psychologist she didn't have the tools to prevent it. She pushed his unresisting form from her and looked into his eyes. "We have to go. Now. I need your help."
Squaring his jaw in perfect imitation of his father, Cole nodded. "Tell me what to do."
"Get dressed. Grab Beau and get him dressed. I'll get Kayli." Further into the bedroom packed with bunk beds and dressers, Rachel ignored the rush of fear. Adrenaline, pure and simple. She didn't fear the end. She didn't fear anything. Not since Rhode Island. She repeated her mantra. Nothing scared her. Not anymore. She had Andy.
