The Dawn of the Lost: Prequel to The Lost and the Wicked (4 page)

“Oh, no!” cries Gia, a second before I could say the very same thing. I know what she’s thinking. There’s no way we’ll be able to outrun that thing. There are too many vehicles littered across the street to make a clean getaway.

“We’re dead!” cries Lana.

“Shut up!” yells Gia. She has a determined look in her eyes, the same one I’ve seen when she gets serious in her little league soccer matches. She turns the car sharply, leading it onto a ramp that spills onto the hallway.

My heart drops to my stomach, where it stays. I can only imagine that the freeway is going to be filled with cars, making it impossible to maneuver.

To my surprise, however, the two lanes to the left of the four-lane highway are completely empty. The two other lanes are stacked with cars, almost as if something has blown them against each other.

“Reeeeeeek!”

Ignoring my pain, I look to the back window. The creature emerges from the ramp. Its cold eyes lock on our small car.

“Go!” I shout.

Gia presses on the gas. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The creature takes off after the car. It looks to have been damaged during the crash. One leg drags behind it uselessly, causing it to run considerably slower than before. In less than a minute, the creature becomes a speck in the distance.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn to my sister. “Take us to Westchester.”

“Westchester? For what?”

“I’m going to meet someone there.” At least I hope I am. After what I just saw, it would be nothing short of a miracle if Summer survived. But if anyone can do it, I know it’s her.

~~~

“Andrew!” calls Gia from inside the car. “We have to go.”

“Just a few more minutes,” I answer, knowing full well that it probably won’t matter. I’m right here, standing in the middle of the street by the Westchester city limit sign as Summer and I had agreed. Instead of the usual skyscrapers I’ve grown accustomed to, tall pine trees on both sides of the road flank me. Being this close to nature in the dark puts me on edge. I feel like I’m in some type of horror movie. A movie where the psycho, axe-wielding killer will run out from between the trees at any moment. Except in this case, a murderous robot has replaced the axe killer.

“C’mon,” insists Gia. “We have to get out of the city and toward grandpa’s farm in Bakersfield.” Her voice becomes a hushed whisper. “If dad and mom survived, they would have headed that way.”

The time on my phone now reads 11:27 P.M. She should have been here hours ago. I remain silent, knowing full well Gia’s right. The realization that Summer did not survive washes over me in a wave of pain. Disappointed, I turn, limping to the car. As I open the door a loud roar breaks the silence.

My first instinct is to panic. My thoughts race back to the raptor creature. However, as the roars continue, I realize that it’s a different kind of noise. This sounds more like a motorcycle.

A faint light breaks through the fog. It grows in size, revealing a black Harley Davidson behind it. It’s a big bike, with shades of gray and blue. The rider stops the bike short of the car and takes off the dark helmet.

I smile inwardly as me and Summer’s eyes meet. She looks tired, but in one piece.

“You made it,” she says, sounding surprised. Her jacket and pants are dripping with some strange white liquid. She turns toward Gia, who is now sitting in the passenger seat and then looks back at me. “Now get in your car and let’s move.”

“Shouldn’t we make some sort of plan first?”

“No time,” says Summer, slipping the helmet back on. “We’re going to have company soon.” The bike’s engine roars to life. “We’ll find a place to stop soon and discuss plans when it’s safe. For now, just follow me. I know this area very well.”

I’m about to retort when I hear a strange sound emanating in the distance. It sounds like thousands of people choking all at once. Then, hazed by the darkness, I see the pale image of dozens of people headed our way. Their bodies are covered in some type of white gunk. They move in strange, robotic movements.

“What the heck is that?” asks Gia, her face registering a mixture of shock, anger, and fear.

“No time to explain,” comes Summer’s muffled shout. “Let’s move.” She takes off on the motorcycle, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

I draw a breath, take a seat in the driver’s seat and take off after her, determined to keep my sister alive. This time, I do not look back.

           Cole Dalton (13-year-old 8
th
Grade Student)

Year: 2101

Location: San Diego, California

“What in the world is that?” asks, Giza pointing at the wave of brown falling from the sky. We had been making good progress on our way to school. I even thought we were going to be a few minutes early for once. But the sight before us seems to have changed all that. She turns to me, her red hair flowing wildly behind her. In this scared state, every brown freckle in her cheek seems to deepen into a deeper shade.

“It looks like it’s sand,” I answer, not believing the words coming out of my mouth. Wave after wave of a golden sand continues to pour from the skies, as if it were rain.

She looks back at me, her eyes wide. “That’s coming over from the Point Loma part of the city.”

There is no need for her to word what she means. I know it full well. Her little brother attends school in that area of town. It is a special school for handicapped kids like John, who has autism.

Suddenly, the entire sky grows a deep red, almost as if were bleeding. I barely have time to notice that my heart rate has spiked to epic proportions when a mass of fire descends from heavens. Seconds later, another wave of flames follows it, scorching toward the city.

The calm, suburban street, which had been empty a few minutes ago, save a few other kids walking to school like Giza and I, is now full of house moms, running out of their homes in a panic. Some rush to their vehicles. Others rush to the school, which is only a few blocks away from where we’re at.

Giza’s eyes remained locked on the sky, as waves after waves of flames continue to pour down.

“C’mon.” I yank her by the top of her blue dress. Today was the day she was supposed to perform in front of the entire school. The day she was going to finally going to get over her fear of stage fright and we would finally hear that beautiful voice she’d been hiding for so long. The one she would use to sing to me in many of our ‘private concerts.’ It was also today when I would finally confess my feelings for her. The same feelings I had kept bottled up for half my lifetime. Somehow, I doubted any of us would be conquering our demons today. “My dad said I could drive the car, but only if it was an emergency.”

She forced her sight away from the flames, and toward me. “You know how to drive?” The tone of surprise in her voice offends me a bit.

“Yes. My dad has been teaching me on the weekends. C’mon. I think the keys are in the pantry at my house.“

We rush back through the street, passing frantic people all around us. I ignore their frantic screams and shouts. I have to hurry if I’m going to help John. Part of me tells me it’s too late, though. The amount of sand that fell was immense. It almost seemed as if someone was trying to bury that entire part of the city.

We reach my home, a light-blue home with a two car garage. Giza’s house is right next to mine. Like every other house in this neighborhood, it looks exactly the same as mine, though hers is a deep green.

“How are you getting the car to start?” she asks, struggling to catch her breath. “Didn’t your dad take the keys with him?”

Normally she was right. My dad always took the keys with him when he went out of the city on his business trips. I suppose he didn’t trust me with the car. He was probably right; I’ve been wanting to drive since I was ten.

I take out the keys from my pocket and jingle them. “Not this time.”

Wordlessly, we open the garage, climb into the red Starchaser, slide the key into the keyhole, and peel out. Me driving to the city while Giza sits on the passenger seat; I can’t even imagine how many times I lived this scene. Except in my daydreams the entire world wasn’t going to hell. The complete opposite. In my fantasy the top of the convertible is down. The sky is blue as I ride down toward the beach with the wind blowing through her hair. She leans in, brining with her that rosy scent of hers, and she kisses me in the cheek, confessing once and for all that she has had the biggest crush on me since forever.

“Watch out!”

Giza’s scream yanks me back to reality.

I press the break and the car comes to a screeching halt. The trio of kids who dashed in front of the car, don’t even seem to register how close they came to being ran over. They run past the street, through the yard, and turn the corner, disappearing with the crowd of people.

“What now?” Giza asks, looking back.

Through the rear view mirror I notice a white fog racing toward us at an alarming speed. It moved past the people and the homes, knocking down everyone in its path. My throat goes dry as I press the accelerator, but before the car can even move an inch, the fog passes us. The car shakes. My heart drops to my stomach. Giza screams.

The next few seconds trickle by in anxious silence. I had expected something bad to happen. I wasn’t sure exactly what, but something. Perhaps the car would explode. Maybe the fog was going to leak into the car and poison us. But instead, everything remains eerily silent.

“What was that?” I ask, not really expecting a response. It’s clear that whatever is going on, it’s way beyond what any of us know. All I can gather is that we’re being attacked. But by whom? Is it another nation? Or could it be terrorists? My mind rejects all these ideas. Deep down, I know that no one on Earth possesses the kind of weapons being used in this attack. For a crazed moment, I entertain the idea that it may be aliens. But I quickly push that aside. Aliens are a product of science fiction, creatures that are to be found in comic books and movies, not in real life.

“We should get out and help,” says Giza. Her eyes move back and forth between the dozens of people sprawled across the street and the many front lawns. Many of them are now beginning to get up. Some of them have a wild, manic look in their eyes. Drool drips from their mouths.

Out of the crowd, emerges Mrs. Brentt. She is the librarian from school. Her usual smile is gone, replaced by an animal look. Her hungry gaze moves from side to side, finally settling on a short man who is still struggling to get to his feet.

“Watch out!” cries Giza in vein. There is no way the man can hear us over the screams and shouts that have now begun growing louder.

I gape in disbelief as Mrs. Brentt pounces on the unsuspecting man from behind. Her teeth, dripping with saliva, dig into the side of the man’s neck. Miraculously, the man manages to stumble a few feet forward without going down. His pained screams fill the air as he reaches back with his hand. Sloppy punches land on the librarian’s nose and forehead. She doesn’t seem to care and she bites in even deeper. Blood pours out of the man’s neck and runs down, staining his white-collared shirt.

The man throws himself onto the ground. Mrs. Brentt loses her grip and rolls into the street. For a second, I think the man is actually going to escape. But a moment later another woman, wearing a long red dress, charges the man. She claws at his face; all the while she rips at his cheek rabid teeth. Mrs. Brentt, who has now gotten back to her feet, joins in the fray. She takes a deep bite of the man’s jugular.

A scream drowns in his throat. Then his flailing arms and legs cease to move.

Loud thumps slam on the car door. I turn to the sight of a woman begging for us to open the door. A pair of girls, about my age, are banging on the back door.

Giza reaches for the door handle. The traumatized part of my brain tells me to not open the door. It tells me to keep it closed and get away from this place as quickly as possible.

“We can’t just leave them out there alone,” cries Giza. She reaches for the door handle again. This time I grab her arm and pull it back. She turns at me, her face registering shock. “Why are you doing this?”

“That white gas infected some of the people. There is no way of knowing who could be next.”

The woman bangs on the window again. She presses her face to the glass. That’s when I notice the drool that is now dripping from her mouth. Her eyes, too, have grown a deep shade of red.

Oh. Heck no!
I press on the accelerator and drive away, leaving the sounds of death and suffering behind. This time, I don’t look back.

≈≈≈

The first of the night’s stars have begun to show their light as I finally drive the car out of the alleyway where I had hidden the car for the half the day.

After we left the flesh-eating people behind, we only ran into more havoc. Massive lines of cars jammed together as red rays of light fell from the sky, obliterating anything in their path. Cars lit up like fireworks as they were hit and blew up instantly.

It quickly became clear that, if we were to survive, we had to hide and hope for the best. We drove into an empty alleyway nestled between two buildings and waited for a sign that the attack had subsided.

The city, so full of screams, police and ambulance sirens, car crashes, explosions, and shattered glass a mere hour ago, has now become eerily silent.

Giza turns the knob of the radio. Like me, I’m sure she’s hoping to get some kind of information, anything, that can explain what caused this. But the sound of static is the only thing that bursts through the speakers. She sighs deeply and turns it off.

The gravel under the wheels crunches softly as I swerve to avoid yet another car that lies overturned in the middle of the street. Dark smoke flows out of its engine.

All the buildings we pass wear the signs of an attack. Some more than others. The circular City Hall building has been reduced to a miserable pile of rubbles. The Sharpton Inn, which used to stand twenty stories high, has had the top ten stories completely blown off. Flames have engulfed what is left of it.

“Someone is going to pay for this,” I say, talking to myself as my mouth grows dry. How many people died today? How many brothers? How many sisters? How many uncles? How many parents?

Seemingly ignoring my small rant, Giza points at a dust-engraved sign that miraculously is still standing, albeit a bit more crookedly than normal. It reads: Keep Right for Point Loma.

Following directions, I turn sharply to the right, struggling to guide the car around a corpse that looks charred beyond recognition.

Giza’s hands travel to her chest, where they remain. Her face grows ghostly pale.

I stop the car, knowing full well that there is no use going into Point Loma. We are up high, so we have a clear view of the graveyard below us. The entire section of city has been engulfed in sand. The tops of a few of the taller buildings barely manage to peak out the moon-drenched dirt.

“John,” Giza mumbles under her breath. Tears fall from her eyes.

I stammer for a second, unsure of what to do. Giza and I have been friends since kindergarten. But in all those years, I have never seen her cry.

Recalling a movie I saw a few years back, I reach out for her and wrap my arm around her. She continues to sob as rests her head on my chest. Her warm breath caresses my neck, and a shiver runs down from my neck to my toes.

The warm feeling, however, is quickly replaced by anger. A deep red rage unlike any I have ever felt before. Someone declared war on us. Attacked us with weapons never seen before. In the process they murdered John, a sweet boy who saw nothing but the best in everyone. And now Giza has been left alone in the world, her brother and last remaining family member, now lies dead under a mountain of sand. The more the thoughts race through my head, the deeper my fury grows.

About ten minutes later, I dare to glance at her. Her soft breathing makes it clear that she is sleeping. Her eyes are rimmed with a shade of red from all the crying she’s been doing.

I reverse the car. Driving isn’t the only thing my dad thought me. He also showed me how to hold and shoot a gun. Commander Larks, the General of Earth Alliance, is no doubt going to retaliate for this heinous attack. He will need strong soldiers to fight back. Soldiers like me.

Steeling myself, I push Giza’s silky hair back, and kiss her forehead.
We will get revenge for John. I promise you…darling.