Word
Count: 2000
Foresight
Oven-like heat
saturated each breath. My eyes fluttered open, unease nagging until
Mac's steady, sleeping rhythm soothed me. Dawn light pooled shadows
on his gaunt, worry-lined face as I ran a chipped fingernail along
his stubbled jawline. A tight smile thinned my lips. It took a strong
man to handle me, a stubborn, volatile woman, he'd say. Gifted, I'd
say. Easing from bed, I crossed the worn floorboards and opened the
curtains. My breath caught. Three floors below, a thick, pristine
blanket of snow covered the street...
Something's
wrong.
An eerie tingle
climbed my spine. Tick-tick-tick began to beat in my head, like a
clock counting down.
Run, Dee!
Drenched, I bolted
upright, clutching my throbbing forearm. Untangling myself from the
sheets, I stifled a gasp when my arm swelled, turning red, then
green. My palm ballooned as something wriggled beneath the skin,
snaking around my wrist before climbing my arm. I clawed at the
parasite, shrieking, but it slipped under my fingers, growing as it
passed my elbow. Strong hands shook my shoulder, Mac's voice
slicing through my panic. The pain vanished, my arm whole, thin, and
pale. Sobbing, I fell into my husband's reassuring arms, his
voice's gentle hum easing my hammering heart.
A pudgy hand gripped
my knee before I met my three-year-old's glistening, round-eyed
stare. Wiping my tears, I forced a smile. "Just a bad dream, Josh."
He pulled himself onto my lap, and I hugged him, kissing his blond
curls in time with the ticking rhythm in my mind.
*****
The stench of
rotting garbage drifted through the open bedroom window as I gazed
down on our neighborhood. I nursed a cup of hot water, sweetened with
a pinch of sugar from our meager rations. An indulgence Mac insisted
on after one of my episodes.
My hand trembled with a subconscious beat as I let the steam play
along my lips.
Across the street,
two feral dogs tore into the mound of stacked garbage before turning
on each other in a snarl of gleaming teeth. They rolled between
parked cars into the street where red dust drifted in waves, clinging
to everything; vestiges of the dustbowl, once the breadbasket of
America. The stifling breeze offered small respite to the early
morning heat, already climbing into the nineties. Hard to imagine
snow, but the thought urged me to flee.
Josh's excited
laugh carried from the kitchen. We'd saved three eggs, and Mac
promised pancakes, maple syrup the big surprise. Where Mac got it, I
didn't know, but not our usual black-market channels. Another
worry. I ran my eyes over my husband's tools stacked beside the
wardrobe. God knows he did his best with work so scarce.
The roof groaned
before the floor buckled. Heart in mouth, I dropped my mug, grasping
the window's ledge. The building swayed, then settled, leaving dust
motes to drift from the cracked ceiling while car alarms blared, and
dogs howled. Mac threw the bedroom door open, cradling wide-eyed
Josh. My husband sagged and settled on the edge of our bed.
"Just a small
one," he whispered into Josh's ear, and my son raced back to his
breakfast.
Mac stared at me
with haunted eyes before running a hand through his greasy locks.
"They're comin'
more often, Dee. Rumors say it's cause Yellowstone's gonna blow."
I looked away. We'd
enough to fret about. "There'll always be rumors. Besides, it's
too far away."
"They say that
don't matter." He pursed his lips. "You have the snake dream
again?
Shuddering, I
nodded. "Also dreamed it snowed."
Mac rasped a
humorless chuckle. "Well, it ain't snowed in twenty years, let
alone on Independence Day. That
dream didn't come true."
I shook my head.
"How many times have my visions saved our bacon?" I jabbed a
finger at him. "It'll snow. And we better be gone before it
does."
Mac gasped a
bug-eyed, "You nuts?"
Skeptics! Why?
Anyone but Mac and I'd have walked, saving my own skin. But our
damned love trapped me. Nostrils flaring, I yelled, "Why won't
you listen?"
My hard-headed man
clenched his fists. "Stop..."
"And we ain't
goin' to the parade. Somethin's gonna happen." Pulling my hair,
I wailed, "I feel it in my head."
"Damn it, Dee.
It's just dreams. They're roastin' a hog at the ballpark. Maybe
you don't care, but our son needs meat. We're goin'." Mac
strode from the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
My head throbbed to
a faster tempo as I slid to the floor, massaging my temples. Movement
on the wall caught my attention. Trapped beneath the faded,
rose-vined wallpaper, something slithered along the wall, stopping
above Mac's tools. What the hell? Trembling, I stood. The wallpaper
bulged, swelling, ready to burst. Two quick strides and I grabbed my
husband's hammer, slamming it into the boil. The head punched a
hole in the wall, but whatever-it-was fled like a mole tunneling
under the paper. I followed, hacking holes in its wake until the wall
puffed into a massive blister. Screaming, I drove hammer-stroke after
hammer-stroke into it, tearing sheetrock and insulation from the wall
before the bedroom door crashed open.
"What the hell you
doin'," Mac bellowed, clamping my hammer-wielding wrist.
"It's in the
wall!" I shrieked as I pulled against him, ripping insulation from
the hole before he dragged me away.
"Stop this, Dee.
Nothin's there." Panting, my eyes fixed on the light pouring
through the fissure I'd opened.
Trying to break
free, I screamed, "Oh God, it escaped into Nando's room."
Mac restrained me in
a straight-jacket grip, forcing me onto the bed beside him. "Please,
Dee. You're seein' things..." The desperation in Mac's voice
broke through my anxiety. My heart ached when I saw fear painted in
his moist brown eyes. Standing in the doorway, Josh sniffled, his
lips trembling in silent grief. The damaged wall filled my eyes, and
I dropped my head, hot tears scoring my cheek.
"Am I going nuts?"
I whispered.
Mac eased his grip,
rocking me. "Hey, it's okay. You're just stressed, is all."
He chuckled. "Better fix this before Nando comes home. Any excuse
not to pay his rent."
My jaw clenched.
"Maybe he'll leave."
"We need 'im to
make the apartment's rent. Why you hate 'im so?"
I shrugged. "Don't
know. Don't trust 'im." If Mac knew, he'd kill him. I'd
been stupid. Nando's olive-skinned good looks and easy laugh drew
me like a fly to trash. Maybe I led him on, maybe he was just drunk,
but when he pinned me, groping and tearing at my clothes, everything
changed. After I kneed him in the nuts and held a knife to his
throat, he got the message never to touch me again. He'd called me
a crazy bitch. He was right.
My weary husband
groaned, surveying the destruction. He raked his hair and mumbled,
"Don't worry about the parade. You and Josh stay home. Nando'll
help me smuggle some food back."
*****
With the men at the
ballpark, I held Josh on my lap, watching the neighborhood from our
open bedroom window. Our quiet time, our distraction. As a girl, I
would have watched TV or surfed the net, but that's all gone now.
Something about 'cleansing
our minds of subversive lies,'
whatever that means, but I needed a diversion from my pounding head.
I pointed at a dog slinking in the shadows across the street, hiding
from a Blackshirt
patrol. Josh followed the hound's movements, transfixed.
A pigeon-sized bird
buzzed past our window. Too fast for a pigeon. Another flew by, and a
gunshot said the Blackshirts
saw it, too. A distant rumbling drone grew loud, punctured by
screams. I poked my head out the window as the patrol fanned out
intent on a mob pouring from the ballpark. My mouth dropped open. A
flock of birds hovered over the crowd, dive-bombing them. Oh, God!
Mac!
I ducked as a bird
whizzed a hair's breadth from my head, and slammed the window shut
when it turned to hover before us. Not a bird! More like a giant
green hornet. A dripping stinger emerged from the end of its long
bulbous body and slammed into the glass. Clutching my hysterical
child, I screamed as the glass cracked under its repeated, chiseled
attacks. Both windowpane and insect exploded in a shotgun blast,
scattering glass shards and green goo across the room. I fled the
bedroom, barricading ourselves in the kitchen.
After shuttering the
kitchen windows, I dropped to the floor, holding my son. While I
quaked with sobs, insect drone rattled the apartment, pierced by
screams, shrieks, sirens, and gunfire. Gradually, the noise faded,
moving down the street.
My breath caught
when ponderous footsteps climbed the stairs. The front door burst
open, and I expelled a relieved cry when Mac helped Nando inside. Arm
around his waist, my husband walked his friend to the couch, the vain
charmer, bloated and green. Struggling to breathe, he lay down,
gasping, "Dios
mio, que bichos!"
Mac tore open his
buddy's shirt, revealing an angry globular swelling on his chest.
My husband gave me a panicked look like I'd know what to do. "He
got stung. Lance it?"
Squeezing my boy, I
whispered in his ear, "Josh, go to your safe place. Remember, don't
come out 'til I say so." Trance-like, my traumatized child opened
a kitchen cupboard to hide in its cushioned interior.
Steeling myself, I
heated a knife over a flame, while Mac soothed Nando with booze. When
ready, I nodded at Mac. He whispered in Nando's ear and lay across
him, bracing his arms. I drew the glowing knife through the swelling,
fighting nausea as blood and green-hued puss oozed from the gash. The
sickly smell of burnt flesh almost overwhelmed me. Nando screamed and
fought before passing out, blood flecks and phlegm foaming his lips
with each rattled breath.
The wound flushed
with liquor and dressed, I sat back, knees-to-chin, shaking before
heaving sobs overtook me. Mac held me until the trembling stopped,
only my mind's steady throb continued to tick. Once I'd coaxed
Josh from his sanctuary, he nestled on my lap, and in silence, we sat
beside the couch, listening to Nando's labored breaths.
"Will he make it?"
Mac asked.
I shrugged. "Told
ya somethin' bad was gonna happen."
Mac dropped his head
and took my hand. "Should 've listened, Dee. If you and Josh..."
"Forget it. We
gotta leave. I got this tickin' in my head. Like it's countin'
down 'til it snows. It'll be too late then."
My husband searched
my eyes. "Where?"
"Canada?" I
said, but Mac was already shaking his head.
"Too heavily
patrolled. Besides, our ration of ten gallons a month will only..."
"We have to," I
shrieked, strangling his hand. "Or it'll be really bad."
"Okay!" Grim
determination hardened Mac's face. "I'll make it happen."
Cheat, steal, or kill, we'd survive.
Our patient groaned
and vomited dark brown bile. Before I could react, Mac gasped my
name, and I froze. Nando's stomach rippled in a spiral, as though a
snake swam under his skin. Shrieking, I pulled Josh away from the
prone man.
The thumping in my
head became a continuous thrum, while I urged our son into his bolt
hole. Grabbing the knife. I raised it over Nando's belly. Mac
caught my arm. "You'll kill 'im."
Sirens outside
startled us, followed by the blared announcement, "Attention!
This is a public health announcement. Those stung by the dire-hornets
must be quarantined..."
The message
continued, unabated while pounding on the apartment doors below
carried up the stairwell. Footsteps thundered up the steps before Mac
opened the door, pointing towards his dying friend. Two Blackshirt
stretcher-bearers pushed into our home, sweeping us with cold eyes. I
gasped. Snowflakes clung to their hair, shoulders, and boots.
"Snow!" I hissed
through rising panic.
A soldier sneered.
"Snow? It's ash. Yellowstone blew."
The thrumming in my
head ceased. In silence, the room spun, dread filling my heart.
Winter's coming.
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