Prologue
Not many people can say they witnessed the end of the world.
I did. And believe me, it’s not something to brag about.
The piercing noise of a siren filled our house, startling me awake and causing a paralyzing fear to seep into my core. My father’s frightened expression materialized before me, his brow creased with worry.
“Wha-what’s going on?” My heart pounded in my chest, a rapid rhythm echoing in my ears as I sat up. Something was wrong.
“Mom’s packing a bag. Get dressed—we have to get to the shelter in town.” My dad’s trembling voice cracked as he spoke, and he immediately erupted into a fit of coughs. “And put your mask on.”
For over a year, we’d been living in a deadly pandemic. Masks became a constant accessory whenever we were in the presence of others, and leaving the house only happened when it was absolutely essential. Scientists called the sickness BRETH, an ironic name for a substance that invaded the lungs and airways, constricting the flow of air. Conspiracy theoristscirculated rumors, suggesting the sickness was manufactured, although there was little evidence to support their claims.
My father’s worried face told me everything I needed to know and made my heart rate skyrocket—this was serious.
Sliding out of bed, the icy floor sent shockwaves through my warm toes. A shiver traveled up my body, and my shoulders tensed as I hastily made my way to the dresser. I quickly yanked a hoodie over my head, feeling its soft fabric brush against my cheeks, and pulled a pair of jeans over my underwear. Ravaging my dresser, I threw a few warm sweaters, pants, and a small pouch of emergency toiletries into an old backpack that was haphazardly tossed into the corner of my bedroom. “Are we under attack?”
Flickering shadows danced in our kitchen, where my father was frantically rushing around, grabbing papers from his desk and stuffing them into his briefcase. He paused for a moment and turned his bespectacled face in my direction. “It’s happening. We need to get to a shelter.”
Since the pandemic had started, a world war had been brewing, and the United States was on high alert for any signs of terrorist activity. Each day, mass panic spread throughout the world as bank accounts froze, websites went dark, and browsers crashed, leaving the internet inaccessible. It was declared a global cyberattack, spurring nations to ready their armies and nuclear arsenals for retaliation, despite no one knowing who was behind it.
With Wi-Fi and streaming as their only source, the televisions transformed into expensive rectangles, serving as wall decorations in every household. As a result, radio broadcasts and newspapers regained popularity. Tonight, the radio blared at full volume, and a monotone male voice crooned through the speakers, “This is a Wartime Broadcasting Service. A nuclear attack is imminent. Seek shelter immediately.”
I instinctively reached into my back pocket to find my phone, its sleek screen casting a soft glow in the dim light surrounding me. I skimmed the defunct apps before clicking into my texts. Since the internet went out, my attempts to send texts had been futile, but I’d made sure to keep my phone charged to scroll through old photos.
It made me feel less alone.
I held hope that one day my texts would go through, especially in an emergency. My fingers glided over the screen like an Olympic figure skater before I pressed send on the text I’d been typing to my boyfriend, hoping he and his family were safe. I held my breath, willing it to go through, but my hopes were dashed when a red exclamation mark appeared next to my unsent message.
When the pandemic hit and technology still worked, Gabe and I were forced to spend a couple of weeks apart. We found solace in phone conversations that lasted hours every night, even when the world seemed to be in a constant state of chaos. The long-distance dating was fine until it reached a point where I couldn’t resist the urge to lay my eyes on him. To touch him. I felt safe when I was with him, even when havoc was being wrought around me. We agreed to meet at a town park nearby, and from then on, I’d pop the screen from my bedroom window and sneak out to see him.
Even though my father had no issue with me being gay, if he knew I was sneaking out to blow my boyfriend, I’d never hear the end of it.
“C’mon, let’s get going.” My dad’s gaze met my hands clutching the cell phone. “Why do you have that? You know it doesn’t work.”
“Gabe,” I breathed. “I was hoping I could give him a heads-up about where we were going.”
His face softened. “Vinny, I know you’re concerned, but trust me, he’ll be fine.” He could sense my uncertainty from the mixed emotions displayed on my face. “Don’t you think he’d want you to stay safe?”
One of the many amazing things about him was his ability to convince anyone to do anything, which is why he was so successful at work. He gave me a sympathetic sideways smile as if to acknowledge the internal battle I was facing, but our primary focus needed to be onourwell-being.
And he was right.
Walking into the kitchen, I saw my mother checking to make sure the oven was off, even though we hadn’t used it today. She was stunning, and we always joked that she resembled a delicate Victorian doll, but in reality, her beauty surpassed anything I’d ever seen.
“Ready?” Her brown doe eyes were large and frightened. “We don’t have much time.”
“Let’s go.” My dad wrapped his fingers around his jangling keys and sprinted outside.
With haste, I stomped out the front door, the sound of the frozen wooden steps groaning beneath me. My dad was already in the driver’s seat, and the engine was humming. The moment I reached the last step, my foot unexpectedly slipped on the icy surface, forcing me to grab onto the railing with my arm to maintain my balance.
“Hurry up!” My dad’s breath created a plume of smoke as he yelled out the window. “And be careful, it’s slippery!”
As my mom gracefully slid around the hood of the car, I hurriedly shuffled my feet toward the nearest door. The cold metal of the handle touched my palm, and a loud crackling sound filled the air when the layer of ice shattered and fell away.
“We’re all in. Go, go, go!” My mom’s voice was shrill as she yelled to my father.
My body quivered, unable to distinguish between the freezing temperatures and the overwhelming fear of what was happening. We were in the midst of a possible nuclear attack. The government recommended drills to ensure we had a viable evacuation plan, but no simulation was never like this. It was evident my parents shared the same fears as I did, though they tried to hide it.
