Chapter 1
One more flight. The tremor again. I squeeze my hand into a fist before anyone notices, especially me. I’m almost home. The whole trip so far is uneventful. Good, even. I cleared up the decision in Baltimore—business as usual, and on the last leg back to San Diego.
Denver is the usual hustle and bustle I notice as I sit in the black Naugahyde chair. Are they still made of Naugahyde? The chrome frame doesn’t indicate. Certainly, can’t be leather. The others are all plugged in, and I will be as well as soon as I find my earbuds. I can listen better to Emily that way. I can hear beyond her voice to the tenor of her mood. She’s done so well the past month. Her anxiety is finally under control, or so I hope. The boys even sound like they’re caring for things around the house like I’d asked. As much as you can ask a five- and seven-year-old. At least they’re kind boys. Not the kind to give their mother grief like I did as a kid.
It isn’t her fault she’s so fragile these days. After her father’s death, she seemed fine. She smiled and nodded, just like expected if you asked her. But I knew something was off. I was too busy to really pay attention. She wasn’t lying exactly; Emily would never lie, but a silent switch had triggered within her, and she was anything but fine. I think I knew it before she did. There was even an odd smell about her that I couldn’t place when I finally put work aside and came to bed late at night. And then one day, she didn’t pick up the boys from school. The secretary called my office, and later that night, after a frantic search, I found her sitting in the car in the pouring rain in front of the grocery store, completely crumbled.
A piece of me died that day. Emily’s literally a part of my soul, and I had no idea she was in so much pain. Grief is an awful thing. It silently gnaws on your insides. And though she couldn’t tell me what was happening, it was the death of a part of her that I loved so much, it killed a little piece of us both. Now, I can’t leave her for long. It’s more me than her. I can’t bear to let her sink that low again without me there to hold her up. I promised to catch her, and I’ll be damned if I let her down again.
So this is a quick trip I’d been putting off for months. She promised me she was fine before I left and to stop treating her like a delicate flower. But what she doesn’t understand is that…I’m the delicate flower. She’s my petal. I know it’s cheesy, but I can’t…won’t, do life without her. Not without my, Em.
I clear my throat as I fish the lost earbud from my satchel pocket and snug it into my ear. Enough of that. Emily’s fine. One more trip, and a quick drive to the house from the airport. No more than four hours from now. I scan the departure board while thumbing home on my phone. So far, my next flight says on time. All is well, as I hear Em pick up the other line.
“Hi babe!”
“Henry, you made it. How was your flight?”
See. She sounds fine. Em’s fine… “Easy. Not even turbulent.”
“Good. I saved you some King Ranch Casserole in case you're hungry when you get home.”
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”
“I know it’s your favorite. The boys sure loved it.”
“Listen, don’t wait up. I’ll just sneak in. You need your sleep.”
“Henry…”
“I’m serious, you have to get up early and get them off to school early, it’s Thursday, and they have early morning karate practice. See, I remembered.”
“I meant to say, I miss you, and you’re welcome to wake me…when…you…arrive…”
She was smiling. I could feel it through the ether. And now, so was I. “Oh…oh, I see. Well in that case…” I lowered my voice like a teenage boy because I was certain the hairy middle-aged guy sitting next to me knew what my wife was hinting at. “I’m on my way…”
“I love you, Henry.”
My voice suddenly graveled. “I love you more.”
That’s when the lights died, and the call ended.
“Em?” I said in the dark amongst a sea of stunned blue screens.
Chapter 2
In the pitch, that's where we were in that prolonged half-second. Many of those lit blue screens elevated in a flash. Others were shadowed momentarily as their owners reached for their loved ones. A few, like my own, doused - a throwback from my military days. I see you. You there, in the dark. Others, like me, moved in silence, backs against a wall, away from the others. The idea: they can't sneak up on you that way, or at least, you can see them coming.
Everyone, remain calm.
Where are the emergency lights?
What's going on?
Really! This is ridicu…
Everyone rema…
YOU remain calm! Turn on the damn lights!
Shouting. Crying. Threats of bodily harm. Someone ran past me, one of those silent guys, only he was going in the wrong direction. I know because of my habit. A fun little game. I scan every corner. Find two exits as soon as I enter a room. And I quietly turn right and begin walking calmly to one of them now. This was going to turn ugly real quick.
I squeeze my phone, thinking of Em, and slid her into my suit breast pocket for now. She’s worried. I need to try and call her back, but the light... the light. It will have to wait. And my battery - I only have a quarter charge due to the sketchy rental car plug-in that got me here. Not available, read the notice on the plane.
More shouting already and a scuffle nearby. Were the fawns becoming prey so soon? Never waste a good crisis…that worn out phrase. Someone thrashed my shoulder again. I keep walking - a steady gait as I switch my bag to my left hand, reserving my right hook as an option. My suit jacket is already smudged. Em would scoff; she helped me pick it out and had it tailored. The lighter hue of heather gray, she'd said, highlighted my blue eyes. I didn't have the heart to tell her at the time it would stain too quickly. It was impractical for business travel. But the arched eyebrow and gleaming eyes stifled my resistance. Anything for Em.
Please remain in the secure area.
At least they got the damn intercom working, or was that a handheld bullhorn? Where the hell is the backup generator and no emergency lights? What is up with that? I make it to the window. Planes were sitting there earlier. Their blinking lights cease right in front of my eyes. Why would they turn them off suddenly? And the little guys with their glowing sabers, where are they? Out there, I'm sure, only their beams are benign. I picture one of the orange-vested guys in my mind. Banging on the heavy end. Staring straight down into cinder, the once-glowing cone. What the heck? Did all their batteries die in unison? But then I see one glow, dancing quickly in the distance, not the man carrying the flame but the light itself like a panicked firefly. Then suddenly, that spark too, vanishes in a flash.
That's when it hit me. I stop in my tracks and spin. I'm sure my suit jacket did that unmanly little twirl, but who’s watching? The lights, even in the distance, are out. This isn’t an EMP. So far, there’s no explosion. A failed grid? Likely. But there is something more. Someone turned off the airplane blinkers. That took conscious effort from a human. A command. And the disembodied orange? That was an order.
Are we sitting ducks? Awaiting impact?
My pace quickens as pandemonium erupts behind me. More screeching. More yelling. I’m running now, be damned restricted area.
The exit. No more than twenty feet ahead, but I know its hidden guardian awaits. I could try to reason with him. His name is likely Bob. I’m sure he has a family. I’ve always marveled at how the brain works in a panic. So many thoughts conjure in the blink. And just as I resolve this encounter in my mind, a new, rather panicky announcement states:
TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONE LIGHTS IMMEDIATELY!
Let’s just say that at this moment, I’m not stopping to reason with Bob…
Chapter 3
I am not the young man I used to be, not like back when I jumped from perfectly good planes in foreign desert lands. Something about lying on the cold tarmac reminds me those days are over. I feel the exact reason I gave up the fun stuff of my youth. Those times got you killed. I was fortunate enough to pass the baton with a knee and ankle injury. But as the pain reminds me of my glory days, it takes second place because, here I am now, with empty lungs, bereft of resident air, lying face up on the runway, clutching my briefcase firmly to my chest to keep my link to Em secure. Yet, I'm pretty sure my laptop didn't make the trip intact. I feel a crunch beneath my forearms. No one made the leap after me. Their loss, I figure.
As I attempt to convince air to regain its normal abode, I observe an odd sight in the sky—actually, several sights, as I quirk my eye. Time is once again slowed to a snail's pace amidst the rushing chaos. Above me is a formation of gray jellyfish floating in the breeze. It strikes me, perhaps I was knocked unconscious because that's precisely what the moonless sky resembles against the night—a sea of gray, undulating jellyfish slowly but determinately making their way toward the airport. Hundreds of them... possibly thousands.
While I grapple with this puzzling observation, a burst of orange appears suddenly on my right periphery. That's when it dawns on me.
I roll aside, defying the negligent air, because a gray shape is descending right toward my face.
I spring to my feet.
I'm running now, okay, limp running, and more marigolds come into view on either side of me in the distance. Somehow, I don't hear a thing except for the blood rushing through my veins.
I gape one stride aside. Suddenly, I'm clutching a football and dodging ghostly opponents.
Someone else is doing the same. He darts and zigzags ahead of me—a younger man. My testosterone gets the better of me, and I accelerate, convinced I can outrun him. But then, I'm not watching above as closely as I should, and I nearly collide with one coming from the opposite direction. My opponent and I then race to clear the field, both of us bent over, out of breath. (Mine returns when I'm not looking.) We’re behind the sea now, heaving over bent knees, both turn back, and the flower field has won the game. It's a bouquet of growing flames.
I'm still clutching my briefcase. I don't know how. We lock eyes, the stranger and I, and look up again, scanning the darkened skies. A whole herd of them floating on the breeze ahead.
"What are..." he begins, but then I instinctively throw my briefcase to my face as a grounded plane between us and the garden, explodes.
We’re both down again, lying on the dewy grass, but when we rise, we’re suddenly best friends, and backs together we’re circling before us and above, the next auburn bloom maker.
He completes, though I have not found words yet, “What’s going on?”
Then I stammer because my brain is failing to make the links. “Attack. We’re under attack. I think.”
“Those were drones! Incendiary drones?”
I swallow. “I’m not…” I begin to debate because so much tech has evolved since my desert days, but the point is mute when we see a figure on fire in the distance. He’s walking fully engulfed.
My friend looks at me as if to say, Are we helping?
I see it’s a question. A question on his mind.
I can’t grumble at humanity. Not now. There’s no time. I run for the enflamed. I’m teaching a lesson now. Of how, to me, we humans should behave. I’m certain he’s right behind me, my new friend. But at some point, in the next fifty yards, I sense he’s not.
It doesn’t matter, I shove my case at the man burning to death. Knock him to the ground and pound the flames enough to then roll him free. He’s doused…but he’d dead. I hope. Because of the agony of his condition… I wouldn’t want to live through that myself.
But then I notice the edge of my jacket, the flame caught like a virus. I pound quickly with singed fingers. Beating myself. Em’s jacket… somehow, I don’t feel the pain.
I catch sight of my friend running away in the distance. Perhaps he wasn’t wrong.
I look back at the building, the plane, the growing garden… I pat my phone again, feeling the shield over my heart, take one last look at the charred remains on the ground, and run too into the dark, slowly at first but picking up speed thinking I’m a coward.
But then, I reason numbly, I can grant only one family a hero.
And that’s mine.
Chapter 4
I’m nearly upon my friend. He knows this, we are survivors of the bloom. I don’t mean to follow him. I’m just running in the same general direction, I reason. Running away. Away. But then, my porcelain stare wells, and I stop.
He senses this too and for some reason, he’s also stopping. All bent on catching air, he grabs a glance above, as do I, and between, he tries to say something but instead just waves his hand to me. An urge to follow.
I shake my head and despite the chill, I swipe sweat from my forehead with one burnt finger and steal a glance around my braced arm. We’re leaving them. Left them to their fate. The white spikes ablaze. The fires are spreading across the scrub and if I’m honest, I can hear them now. I can hear their agony. Their yells in the ginger light. I swallow and glance at my companion again. He’s scanning the sky while I lean over. And when he looks back, he jerks his head the other way. I nod with a slow blink.
We are silent communicators, my partner and I, survivors of the jellyfish sea.
But we are not the only ones. A favor of the growing glow, shadows in the distance dart in the night. We scatter not unlike rats it seems, when our world is threatened. Of course, I know this. I’ve seen this scene. Only I wasn’t the rat back then.
I was the sea…
“The fence.” My friend stops. “Can we get over it?”
I find this a funny question.
Can we get over it? That remains to be seen. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the reel of the last ten minutes.
Despite that revelation, I brace my satchel like a lift, and with one step, I shove higher like a man trampoline.
At the top, he reaches down for me. For some reason, I pause at the sight of his palm. I hand him the case, a foot in a rung. He tosses it over and then reaches again. I swallow and clasp the offer, give way to the grip, and let him hoist me enough to gain the edge.
He drops to the other side, as I tear a heathered cuff on a raw-edged peak. And then I watch in horror as I drop at an angle. My phone departs on the lost side.
The moment grounded, I scurry. My hand lunges beneath the wall. But not without a price. A tine catches my wrist as I finger the rounded edge and drag Em back to me, leaving a wet line down the center of my hand. It’s no matter. She’s mine again.
“Hurry,” my friend says in an accent I can’t quite place.
I look at him confused. “What’s the hurry now?”
He only points. And when I turn back, I see them again. It’s not over. A new herd floating on a manmade breeze. Only now against the mari-glow, they look more like weather balloons.
“It’s China. Bet my bloody arse!” he wagers.
I look above, “How many more?” I thumb the side of my phone.
“Cover the light, mate. I’ll watch. You look. We need to find a way out of this.”
Out of this. Out of this. I swallow, and cup a hand over the screen. One missed call. I flip the green notice with a thump. Then a gray national alert. “Remain indoors, it says.”
“Why? To be burnt to a crisp,” he says.
With no real answers, I kill the light, grab my bag and again we are running.
“You ever been here, mate?” he calls back to me.
Here. Here? “Denver?” I ask as our feet find and pound down a vehicle-less asphalt utility road. I notice ahead and assume behind, there are others now too. Those that made it from the flame. Shadows of our former selves, we run.
“Yes. I mean, no. Airports don’t count.”
His scoff is nearly a laugh. “Do you know where we’re going?”
I think about this. And I agree, this is funny. So many answers… but mine is, “Home.”
