Ryan Westfield - Final Chaos

Strange dreams filled her head. A man without eyes was walking near her on the road, speaking to her in a strange, robotic voice, saying “I wear this veil because I know I must protect you.”

Then the man vanished, and her dreams shifted to the city. To Rochester. Aly was walking down the normally deserted street near the bar she used to go to when she was younger.

In her dream, the normally empty street was now full of people. And they were chanting and screaming. There was an excitement in the area, but it was a terrifying kind of excitement. It was anger, intense and amplified by the huge crowd of people. There was something that they wanted, and they were going to do anything they could for the chance to have it again. Their demands weren’t clear, but their intensity was. And Aly knew intuitively, in that dreamlike way, that the crowd would destroy anything just to get a glimpse of what they wanted.

And what did they want? She thought it might be the life that had been taken from them, the life of apparent comfort and ease, the life where bad thing only happened to people on television and in the newspapers, where safety reigned and life and death were subjects for books and movies.

In her dream, Aly was fleeing the crowd. On foot. Barefoot, for some reason. She ran down the street, away from the crowd, away from the towering empty skyscrapers. Her bare feet slapped against the pavement and soon her feet were bleeding. When she turned behind her to look, there was a trail of the blood that had flowed from her feet.

Somehow, she’d run so far that the crowd was nothing but a pinprick off in the distance. She wasn’t tired in her dream, and she wasn’t in pain, despite her bleeding feet. But when she turned around to look, she could see the skyscrapers as clear as a day.

And they were burning. Billows of blackened smoke surged upwards and around the buildings. Intense orange flames lapped at the sky as the buildings were engulfed in fire.

“Aly,” came Jim’s voice. “Aly, wake up.”

His hands were on her, shaking her awake.

“What?” said Aly, waking up suddenly. “What’s going on?”

Adrenaline pumped through her.

Her heart was beating fast. Pounding.

Her eyes were wide, as she looked around frantically.

She was looking for the threat.

Her body was in survival mode.

And they all were.

The reality of the situation had finally hit home for Aly. It might have happened before, but this time it was for real.

“Aly, it’s OK,” said Jim. “It’s OK.” He was holding onto her, trying to be gentle. He spoke in a gentle voice. “Everything’s OK.”

Of course, everything wasn’t OK. Society was likely breaking down around them. Or it was about to.

But, for the moment, things were OK for their little group.

“We’re at the lake house,” said Rob.

“We made it?” said Aly. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” said Jim. “We thought it was the best thing for you, considering what you’ve been through.”

It looked like Aly was fighting back tears, but she didn’t start to cry.

And Jim was glad. Because there was a lot to do.

“But how did we make it?”

“We got lucky,” said Jim. “There wasn’t much happening on the back roads. A few stationary cars. A few people, like us, heading out of town, with their cars loaded down. A few, but not many. Most people don’t seem to realize what’s happening.”

They’d gotten to the lake house, but that didn’t mean they were completely safe yet. There was work to be done. Supplies to be unpacked. Preparations to be made. They needed to work on securing the lake house against any potential attacks.

It would be their fortress, partially removed from the world. But not quite removed enough.

There’d be struggles in their future, and instead of just waiting until the threats found them, they’d do all they could in the meantime to prepare.

“You OK, Aly?” said Jim.

Her eyes were wide, but she looked right at him and she nodded.

“Good. Now you wouldn’t know where your uncle keeps a spare key, would you?”

“Did you already knock?”

“Yeah. He’s not here.”

Aly breathed a sigh of relief.

“My thoughts exactly,” said Jim. “I was remembering that time he got drunk and…”

Aly waved a hand at him. “No need to continue the story,” she said.

“But that’s how they all start. You don’t know which story I was going to tell.”

“Exactly,” said Aly. “They all start the same, and they all end the same, too. He screwed something up. Badly. I hope he’s OK wherever he is, but I’m glad he’s not here. There’s a key hidden in a tree.”

“A tree?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get it. You remember Jordan. He’s anything but conventional.”

“You need me to come with you?”

Aly shook her head. “I’ll be right back.”

Jim nodded, grabbed a plastic trash bag full of gear, and started hauling it towards the front door.

Aly’s Uncle Jordan’s house was nothing fancy. It was a single story home. Small, just two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a living room.

It had once been a quaint vacation home, but its appearance and function had changed dramatically ever since Jordan had moved in. He’d winterized it, since he lived in it year round in the freezing lake-effect winters of the north.

But aside from installing plenty of insulation, new windows, and everything else, Jordan hadn’t done a lick of work on the house in years.

In fact, he’d let the house really start to decay. When Jim and Aly had last visited, the roof had leaked in three separate places. It would have been a simple fix to replace a couple shingles. Jim had actually offered to do it, but for one reason or another, Jordan had refused, using his drunken logic to justify his nonsensical position. There wasn’t any use arguing with him. He’d just keep going and going, exhausting you with words without meaning.

The house needed new siding and plenty of other repairs.

None of that really mattered now.

Jim was happy they had somewhere to stay. Somewhere that was hopefully far away from the madness that surely would engulf Rochester and the surrounding metropolitan areas.

Pine trees surrounded the house in all directions. That was good. They’d provide some cover and camouflage during the winter months.

A narrow path through the trees led to the lake, which was only about fifty feet away.

On the other side of the gravel driveway, there was a large shed. Its roof had partially collapsed, and Jim didn’t know what was inside. Maybe an alcohol still, for all he knew.

“Got it,” said Aly, rushing back to the Subaru in the driveway, holding the key triumphantly.

Jim took it from her. “I’d better go in first,” he said. “Just in case.”

Most of the gear, in trash bags, had been deposited by the squalid front door with chipped and peeling paint.

Jessica, Rob, and Aly stood behind Jim as he put the key into the lock.

He opened the door slowly, Ruger in hand, just in case.

Jim nodded his head at them, indicating to follow him. Jessica had her gun out, and Rob held the handgun that they’d taken from the men in the truck, although Jim was sure that Rob didn’t have the slightest idea how to use it.

He supposed it was better than nothing. Possibly. Either that, or a liability.

The interior of the house was dark, and there was a stale smell that hung in the air.

But there was no one inside.

Together, they checked all the rooms, including the mud room, which Jim had forgotten about.

“This place is filthy,” said Rob.

“It’ll work,” said Jim. “We’ll have plenty of time to clean it up.”