A Bad Day (Book 1): A Bad Day Page 4

  He loved being on the road alone with his music and a cup of coffee. It gave him an incredible sense of freedom, something he didn't feel in his everyday life, a kind of blissful high. At one point he'd even considered becoming a trucker and leaving the corporate rat race for the open road. He had also fantasized about becoming the first white rapper but a wife, child, and The Beastie Boys quashed all of those fantasies. So a road trip became the place where he got a chance to be himself without worrying about anyone else.

  Once he got to his destination, stopped being in motion, a sense of loneliness rose out of his depths like a whale breaking the surface of a calm ocean. In the past he called his wife during those times, just to hear a familiar voice and talk until that whale sank. Since she left three years ago, taking the brand new BMW and nearly all of their one hundred thousand dollars in savings, it wasn't an option.

  In fact the feelings of loneliness would lead him to think of her which led to his insides sizzling with anger. He found counting eased those feelings.

  He'd count whatever looked interesting, wherever he happened to be. He knew, for instance, there were fifteen black and gray bar stools along the bar of this hotel, eighteen dark orange square candles on all the tables and the bar itself and finally, ninety-two visible fuchsia diamonds on the rug.

  Sometimes he would lose count and have to start again. He often counted several times to ensure accuracy. He had no idea where the practice came from, but it seemed to work.

  An out-of-the-blue phone call from Turnello added to the oddness of the day. Though he appreciated his friendship, Jim never knew what sort of mood Turnello would be in, so he prepared himself for anything. This conversation went over-the-top even for him. The return of apocalyptic dreams concerned Jim that Turnello might be slipping back into alcoholism and depression. Jim witnessed him go through that hell before and he prayed it wasn't happening again.

  Grateful the day was behind him, he looked forward to sitting on the bowl for a while and finishing the novel he had purchased just for the trip.

  Toilet reading became a habit developed out of a combination of childhood constipation and coming from a family with five obnoxious siblings. The bathroom, with its locked door and a good book, became his place of refuge. There he found his solace, when not on the road. He continued the practice to this day and it still gave him the same comfort.

  Being engrossed in his novel, Jim didn't notice the rumbling and shaking of the hotel at first. If he had he might have thought a fully loaded tractor trailer drove by. It wasn't until the shaking grew violent enough to splash cold water on his ass that he noticed something weird just happened.

  "What the fuck?"

  He set his book down and grabbed toilet paper. Even though he knew toilet water to be the same as drinking water, there was something disgusting about having it splashed all over his bottom. Just as he began to stand to dry himself a sudden hard jolt caused him to lose his balance and fall to his knees onto the cold tile floor with his pants around his ankles. The lights went out and something made of glass, probably the shower doors cracked and shattered.

  He knelt motionless on the floor for a minute trying to understand what the hell had happened. He never experienced an earthquake before but from descriptions he'd read, that felt an awful lot like an earthquake.

  In Philadelphia?

  They didn't have earthquakes here. He felt for the sink and then pulled himself up. The motion caused a pain in his knees that took his breath away. Little bits of glass fell off of him to the floor. In a daze he took a step forward to reach the door knob but his step became awkward both from the pain and his pants at his ankles. He reached down to pick them up but found shards of glass in his underwear.

  Not chancing leaving a glass piece in his pants in the dark, he left them down. Finding the knob, he pulled the door open and let dim light in.

  Glass fragments sparkled on the rug with a strange orange glow. Unable to pull his pants up because of the glass there, he penguin walked out of the bathroom and turned to look out the windows which were now two gaping mouths open to the city.

  What he saw left him speechless. The city was in darkness except for the light of a fire and car headlights. They lit up enough for him to see a little, or perhaps too much.

  He felt certain a pile of rubble across the street used to be a large building. He saw another building where part of the facade seemed to have collapsed. Actually several fires burned in various places in the distance and people below were running every direction. He heard shouts and people screaming. The air had an acrid smell that left a bad taste in his mouth. Looking around his room he saw cracks in the wall and ceiling.

  "Son of a bitch!"

  If this was the start of the apocalypse like Turnello predicted, it had come at an extremely inconvenient time. He was one hundred and thirty miles from home with a wet ass and pants around his ankles.

  Post Impact - David - Early Morning, Tue Sep 3

  Dr. David Hadley lay on the office floor snoring loudly in total darkness. Next to him sat a two thirds full bottle of scotch and a flashlight. His equivalent of a survival kit. The ground shook and rumbled yet again but this time the motion woke him. He opened his eyes but could see nothing.

  He felt for the flashlight and flicked it on. He found himself blinded for an instant and then the room came into focus. His tongue was as dry as cardboard and his body ached from sleeping on the floor. The ground shook again lightly as if a train had gone by.

  He knew that wasn't a good sign and probably an aftershock of a larger quake farther away. That meant something hit the continent. If the asteroid stuck close by and the aftershocks were that small then it meant the missile launch succeeded and the impact minimal. He tried not to think of the other possibility.

  He got up and flipped the wall switch but, as he suspected, the power was out. He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone to check the time but found the screen black. Odd. He took care to keep his cell phone charged. He couldn't possibly have been asleep long enough for the battery to drain completely. He pushed the power button but nothing happened.

  A bad feeling clouded the edge of his consciousness. He ignored it and left the office to go back upstairs, taking the flashlight with him.

  He realized he was in the middle of the desert but was still amazed how dark it was without any electricity. He searched for his laptop, which he knew for certain was charged. Finding it where he left it, he pushed the power button and nothing happened. He furrowed his brow and stared at the machine. This is bad. He pushed the button again. Nothing. This is very bad.

  This had to be more than just a power failure. The laptop hadn't been plugged in and neither had the cell phone. This could not be from a power surge.

  He looked at the night sky. If they had managed to launch a missile in time to detonate it close, and it went off in the upper atmosphere, there was a good chance they could have caused an electromagnetic pulse. That EMP could have damaged fragile electronics.

  Depending how high and where the missile detonated, the entire continent could be affected. The possibility of this crossed his mind earlier, but he hadn't believed it probable. He sank into a nearby chair in slow motion as if he could no longer stand under the weight of his thoughts. He felt like a man sentenced to death.

  He was over thirty miles from home and 8500 feet up a mountain. Twenty of that thirty miles snaked along a winding two lane mountain road that passed essentially through the middle of nowhere. He seriously doubted the electronics in his car were intact.

  That meant walking.

  He didn't have any equipment or the right footwear for what would turn into an overnight backpacking trip. Except for a water cooler and a bottle of single malt scotch, he had no idea what he had on hand at the observatory in terms of food and water. Staying here for long wasn't going to be an option. The walk to town could kill him. Once he got there he had no idea what he'd find. Hell, he didn't even know if there was stil
l a town there. The suck factor in this equation seemed pretty high.

  The logical thing to do was to wait until morning to take an inventory of supplies and any potentially useful equipment. In the meantime getting some rest, in order to deal with what would likely be a difficult day tomorrow, seemed like a good idea. Except for the fact he felt totally wired.

  He kept replaying the day's events over and over in his mind. He didn't know much, and what he did know made no sense. Trajectory calculations had never been off by very much. In fact these had been spot on the other day and then today something moved.

  The way the asteroid broke up also nagged at him. It happened before it actually entered the atmosphere. Again that made no sense. Something would've had to act on it for that to occur.

  And that tiny piece that moved toward the moon...there was something peculiar about that. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right. Perhaps it was the shape or the way it moved. He wished he could use the telescope, any telescope really, to take a look at the moon's surface to see what that impact had done.

  His stomach began to growl and he realized he never ate the sandwich he brought. Using the flashlight, he found his bag and the sandwich. He wasn't much of a food person, as his bologna and yellow American cheese on Wonder Bread would attest, but the first bite of that sandwich was the best thing he had ever tasted.

  It didn't go well with whisky so he washed it down with slightly cool water from the water cooler. Then he had a slug of Scotch as a nightcap to help relax and sleep so the rest of the night would go quickly.

  With no couch or cot to sleep, he got on the floor and tucked his briefcase behind his head. He lay there for what seemed like hours in that place between wake and sleep, when way off, in what seemed the distance to him, a door creaked open.

  That aberrant sound made his tired eyes pop open and his heart leap with fear. He scanned the room and saw the outlines of things lit by a gray early morning twilight. He reached for the flashlight but didn't turn it on.

  He heard slow purposeful footsteps with doors opening and closing. Someone methodically searched. He tried not to succumb to panic and think this through. Who could it possibly be under these circumstances? A state trooper? A backpacker? An armed and mentally ill serial killer?

  He got up as quietly as possible yet in the profound quiet it felt like every sound was magnified. He wanted to get to a less vulnerable spot in the room. The footsteps were getting closer. He took the chance and stood, tried to get around behind the door. In his quiet haste he knocked over the bottle of Scotch. It fell with a clunk. He froze in place.

  "Gotcha," said a man's voice from down the hall.

  It was not a voice he recognized. His heart beat so loudly he was sure the man could hear that too. He had absolutely no idea what to do. The door creaked open. Out of the darkness and into the gloom of the room stepped a man carrying what looked like a rifle. Even though he was seven feet away, David smelled cigarettes and sweat that emanated from him.

  "I don't suppose you're Dr. Hadley, are you?"

  "Who the hell are you?"

  "That ain't important. What I got to tell you is and maybe you can put a stop to them."

  "I'd say you are a little late for that. Now would you mind putting the rifle away? You're making me nervous."

  "If I wanted to hurt you, you'd be dead already," the man said as he slung the rifle over his shoulder.

  "We're all dead already. Some of us just haven't realized yet." The man paused at this. Even in the pale light David could see his eyes narrow and his head tip into an inquisitive look. "Do you understand what happened?"

  "Aliens are trying to wipe us out," the man replied.

  "Aliens?" David suddenly felt a jolt of fear pass through him. It wasn't because he believed they were under alien attack but rather that he was realizing perhaps this man was the armed mentally ill person he had initially feared.

  "You don't believe me do you?" Before David could reply he continued. "I hoped you would, since you're an astronomer and all, but it don't matter because I can prove it."

  "Prove what?"

  "Prove that we are under alien invasion and attack."

  "And how are you going to do that?"

  "I have one. It’s dead. I killed it."

  "You have one? An alien?" David tried to keep his voice sounding calm but he was terrified. The man was obviously delusional and homicidal. He needed to get away from him and get help. He needed to get back home, regroup, and figure out his next move. He suddenly remembered the satellite phone in that small safe. He needed to get to that phone and see if it still worked. Perhaps if he played along with him he could gain his trust and then knock him on the head when he wasn't looking and get away.

  "Yes, sir, I've been waiting..." the man said as he began to rock his upper body, "I've been waiting a very long time for them to come back. I knew they would. I knew the bastards would. They'd return to the scene of their crime. This time I was ready. This time I was ready for them."

  David found himself at a loss for words. Maybe hitting him on the head sooner rather than later was a good idea. He had never hit anyone before. What would he hit him with and where exactly were you to hit someone to knock them out? He tried to think of every movie he had ever seen where that happened. How did one do it? He couldn't remember.

  "That's quite a story. I would love to hear all about it but I just woke up and need to run to the bathroom."

  "You got any water?"

  "Ah, yes there is a water cooler just down the hall. Here take this flashlight. Make a right. You should see it right there." The man took the flashlight and headed out. As soon as he left David ran over to the desk and got the satellite phone out and turned it on. It took forever to boot up and acquire a signal. He heard footsteps returning. He quickly put the phone back in the desk. The man came back in the room.

  "That sure was good. I ain't had nothing to drink in a while," then noticing where David had moved to, "What are you up to?"

  "Nothing. Nothing. Just...sitting. Got tired of standing." The satellite phone beeped in the desk drawer signaling there was a message.

  "That don't sound like nothing to me," he said grabbing the rifle off his shoulder.

  "Whoa! Take it easy!" David said putting his hands up.

  "Ok, I see we're going to need to do this the hard way. Now, very slowly, take whatever that was beeping out of the desk and lay it on top," he said pointing the rifle at David. With trembling hands David complied. "Now get up and back away from the desk." Again David complied. The man picked up the phone and tucked it in his pocket. "Okay, doctor, we are going to get a few things together and then we are going for a long walk."

  Post Impact - Jim - Early Morning, Tue Sep 3

  Everything seemed to be covered in small shards of glass that sparkled obscenely in the emergency lighting. The cracks in the ceiling and walls seemed to be widening and there were all sorts of troubling sounds coming from both inside and outside the building. Once the initial shock wore off, only one thought stood out in Jim's mind. Get out!

  His pants and underwear were peppered with broken glass and in the interest of saving time he pulled them off, grabbed his swim trunks and slipped them over his loafer clad feet. Then he found his sneakers, shook them out and stuffed his wallet, phone, keys and money in them. Taking nothing else, he ran for his life.

  Stepping out of his room into the hallway, he looked left and right trying to remember which way the stairs were. The hall had a dusty smoky haze and he heard groans, sounds of panic, and crying.

  He went to the right and didn't get very far when the door to a room opened and a balding, portly, middle-aged Hispanic man with a bushy mustache stepped out of his room reaching blindly with his hands. His head and torso were covered with blood.

  "I...I can't see. I can't see! I'm blind," he cried out.

  For a brief moment Jim thought of running past the man and just getting the hell out of the building. Then
a pang of conscience stuck and he grabbed the man's arm.

  "Come this way, sir. We have to get out of the building as quickly as possible."

  "Dios mio. What happened?"

  "I have no idea, but we'd better hurry. I think this place may collapse."

  With Jim guiding one arm and his other feeling for the wall they made their way down the hall as quickly as possible.

  Before they got to the stairwell, a little blond girl about four or five stepped into the hall looking stunned. She had a cut on her cheek that oozed blood in a rivulet down her face.

  Oh my god, Jim thought, this is getting ridiculous. I'm going to die in a fucking hotel on a business trip rescuing people during the apocalypse. Didn't see that one coming.

  "Honey, where's your mommy and daddy?" Jim said trying to stay calm.

  The girl pointed into the room.

  "What is it?" the blind man said, his voice panicky.

  "A young girl. Wait here. I will be right back."

  Jim pushed the room door opened and found the girl's mother sitting up in bed with a magazine in her hands and in a pool of blood that covered the entire bed. She was obviously dead. He took the laces of his sneakers and tied them together quickly and slung them around his neck. He turned and grabbed the girl in his arms. She began crying. He heard debris falling.

  "Come on, let's go," he said to the blind man tugging his arm.

  "The girl?"

  "I have her. Now, run."

  They burst through the stairwell door to find it dark. He pulled out his cell phone and used the light to find the hand rail. He put the blind man's hand on it and they descended the five flights.

  At ground level, they stepped into a lobby filled with panic and confusion. People ran every which way. One woman stood screaming while looking out the lobby doors. Chunks of concrete were falling from above.

  A loud crack filled the air and he saw what looked like a couch and then someone in a bathrobe hit the concrete. The sound sickened him.