The Last Legacy (Season 1): Episodes 1-10 (2 page)

“Do not flee!” the woman said in a strained voice. I couldn’t see anything. I was too afraid to leave the safety of the floor to look up at the TV in the next room. Her voice was loud enough I could listen.

“I repeat. Do not flee! This will only create traffic and will slow down the National Guard and our military. The government needs to be able to get through, especially in larger cities. Find your loved ones and hunker down.”

A plane whizzed above, shaking my rickety house. It sounded too close for comfort, inches from the ground. Something crashed from my bedroom. What sounded like an explosion went off not far from me—what I assumed was a bomb.
 

The ground beneath me shook, my dishes rattling in the cupboards. Something fell to the floor in the living room and shattered. Glass scattered across the floor. I held myself tighter, rocking to soothe the sobs that were releasing from inside me. What was I supposed to do?

The quaking stopped. The ground now still. I crawled out from under the table, careful to avoid the broken glass. My entire body felt like it experienced a trauma, shaky and full of adrenaline. Nausea churned in my stomach, the fear of the unknown manifesting.
 

I turned towards my window at a strange sound. It was like a crying man, but more intense. The noises were like moaning, full of pain and sorrow. I walked to the window and peeked out.
 

A man stood in the center of the road, a foot on each side of the yellow line. He wandered with no apparent direction, one step to the left, the other completely to the right. The sleeve of his suit jacket ripped off at the elbow, his slacks torn at the knees and hips. I didn’t know him, but something about his face sparked recognition.

Where there would have normally been an arm was only emptiness. His eyes flashed up to me, vacant and devoid of any emotion. But I couldn’t focus on them. I stared at the empty space where an arm once was. It must have been torn from the socket because there was no clean break or rounded skin. It was just gone, blood covering his clothes.

I turned and ran to the kitchen sink. I vomited at the horrific sight of that broken man. But I made no attempt to go out and find him. Instead, I drew the curtains on all of my windows, blocking out more broken people from finding me. I ran to my bedroom and locked the door behind me, sinking into my cotton sheets and crying.
 

Curiosity got the better of me. A few minutes later, I meandered back into the living area. My face felt puffy and swollen, my heart skittering for so long, I felt out of breath. I sat down on the couch and flipped the TV on, hoping for good news.
 

The reception had degraded to fuzzy gray blotches and the faint outline of a person behind it. The woman who was just telling us to lock indoors now appeared distant. She yelled instead of reported now, her voice full of madness.
 

“Bombs from unknown, unmarked aircrafts.” Her voice cut out. “Potentially lethal. Don’t breathe the air.” I had no idea what to do about air. The reporter coughed into the microphone and I took her warning more seriously. I jumped off the couch and found some sheets and blankets from my bathroom cabinets.
 

Running to the front door, I nearly tripped over the large pile of cloth. I stopped at the front door and shoved the sheets into the little crack between the door and the floor. There was a crack near the door handle, but I couldn’t do much about that. I did the same against the back door.
 

While the reporters voice spoke of hunkering down and finding safety from the alleged acts of terrorism, I walked the entire house, making sure windows were locked and blinds were drawn tight. I didn’t know if the attackers were on our soil or not, but I didn’t want to risk them seeing me inside. I was actually thankful I had such a small house.

The sun began to set, and I found my nerves slowly building with each minute that ticked by. I sat at the kitchen table chewing my nails to my skin. Who would do this to us? Why would they? It didn’t make sense. And why was the air tainted? How?

This attack felt out of place, seemingly coming out of nowhere. I hadn’t heard anything at the office about an impending war. I know I didn’t watch the news, but it didn’t mean I didn’t listen. Usually, most of my information came from the office. Shit. Would I have work tomorrow? Would I have work ever again?
 

I fell asleep on the couch, watching the reporters change by the hour. The picture had died off, but their voices remained. I was glued to the damn television, eager to hear what was going on. The world moved around me, yet there was nobody to comfort me or tell me it would be okay. The news reporters gave me comfort. If I could hear them, then we were okay.

The house rattled, dust falling into my eyes. A bomb exploded not too far away that woke me up. I jerked up and fell onto the floor in my living room, my head banging against the wood coffee table.
 

“Shit,” I muttered as I rubbed the back of my head. Sun streamed into the room in slats of yellow light. Had yesterday been a dream? I found the remote on the floor beside me. I sat up and clicked the television on. But it remained black. Had I lost power? The indicator light was illuminated red on the front of the television so I knew it was receiving juice.

My mind fuzzed with confusion, and I wasn’t sure why. Surely, the bombs had to have been a dream. I stood up, my lower back and knees aching from spending the night on the couch. I shuffled into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. The power must have been working since the red light on the front blinked to life.
 

I pulled the sheet out from under the door and pulled it open. The cool air of the morning hit me square in the face and I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath. Normally, it was tinted with pollution. Today it reeked of explosives; pure sulfur, spent bonfires, and burning rubber.
 

I glanced to my left and right, but both yards were vacant. The world was dead silent, not even birds chirping in the tall evergreen trees. A chill crept up my spine. I hugged my arms around myself. Unsure, I walked down the front three steps and to the rusted fence that separated my yard and Jean’s.

“Jean!” I called out. She tended to be up before me most days. She had a large vegetable garden in her back yard and most days she went to a market to sell her pickings. Other than that, her and Yippy rarely left their yard.
 

Something shattered from inside her house. And then she appeared in her doorway. Her black mane of hair poked out in waves like Medusa. Her pinched face softened when she saw me.

“Well, hurry, child. We can’t be out in the open.” She waved me over and I jumped the fence. Yippy barked from inside. She pulled me in by the elbow and slammed her door shut.

I’d been in her house a few times before. It always had piles of papers and clothing and seeds around, but right then, it was worse. Instead of piles, she had mounds. She brushed past me and started sifting through clothes. She threw them in a suitcase and then moved onto the next.
 

“Where are you going?” I asked. For some reason, her quick movements had me on edge. My eyes flicked around the room, a feeling of constant paranoia overtook me. Yippy ran into the room and jumped up on my leg. Luckily, the little Chihuahua barely reached my knee as he clawed, trying to climb me like a tree.
 

“I have to go check on my family in Rhode Island. My mamma isn’t good in a thunderstorm so I’m sure she’s in a bad place. I’ll come back with her if I can.”

“Do you know what’s going on?”
 

“Sure do. We’ve been attacked by some assholes with bombs. ‘Aint no lie in that. You better get back into ya house. You’re lucky, girl.”

“How am I lucky?”

“You have nobody to worry ‘bout. No family, no man, no children. Count your blessings, Lana. Instead, I gotta drive two hours. I got no idea what’s goin’ on out there.” She shook her head as she threw something in her bag. Clothes spilled onto the floor.

“Take me with you,” I begged her. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I didn’t want to stay in my house by myself, every creak in the floor boards making me jump with fright.
 

“No, sweet girl. I won’t have your blood on my hands. Hartford’s going to be a struggle to get through. I’m sure that others are fleeing. I can only hope they’re going south.”

“Why south?”

“Warmth, family, I dunno. Seems the smartest way to go. That or stay put.” She turned and faced me. Her blue eyes targeted me and held me in their grasp. “Lana, promise me you’ll be smart and stay safe.” She grabbed onto my shoulders and forced me to look up at her. She had a good five inches on me, more muscle than my scrawny arms had. But she’d always been nice to me.
 

“I promise.” My chest constricted, knowing this was goodbye. I didn’t have any friends, but if I had to name someone, it’d be her. “Do you think the attackers will come on our soil?”

“Sweetie, it’s worse. The bombs have chemicals or fluids in them. They’re changing humans into monsters. The attackers are the least of our problems now. The world’s changing. Let’s just hope our scientists and government can hold up. Otherwise, run. Go south. Maybe we can find each other again someday.”

“Why can’t I go with you?” For some reason, my eyes prickled with tears.
 

“I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“I’d live. I’m a survivor.”

“No, Lana. I’m going south after I get my mamma. Find me when this all dies down.” She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my forehead. I walked towards the front door, her arm guiding me from behind. “Be safe. And don’t trust anyone.”

“I won’t.”
 

She nodded and then the door slammed in my face. I stood for a moment, reflecting on her words, staring at the chipped red paint of her door. Humans were changing into monsters because of the bombs. But what kind of monsters?
 

I took the long way down her front walkway and down the street. My footsteps were slow as I surveyed the entire area, looking for monsters. I didn’t understand what she meant by the word. I didn’t know what to look for.

I didn’t want to be ignorant, but I felt exposed in the empty street. I ran to my house and locked myself inside. I ate a peanut butter and jelly, and drank a cup of coffee as Jean’s words floated around my head.
 

After wasting time, I went to the living room and fiddled around the back of the television. The house still had power, but when the tv popped on, the screen appeared blank. It didn’t even have the scratchy white static, it was just blackness, an empty void.
 

After an hour of messing with the plugs, cables, and internet router, I gave up. There was no use trying to get the thing to work. I found my cellphone in the kitchen, but like yesterday, it had zero service and none of my apps would load.
 

What the heck was I supposed to do? I pulled a kitchen chair in front of the window and stared outside, peeking through a small square I made by pulling the curtain back and pinning it with a clothespin.
 

I sat for hours watching the vacant street. Planes flew overhead, bombs sounded in the distance. But there was nothing so close that I got nervous. I hoped the planes were our country fighting back. But with the tall evergreens blocking my view, I didn’t know much.
 

Before bed, I checked the electronics again. But like before, they were useless.

I felt like the last woman alive. I hadn’t seen anyone in two days. Not many noises sounded anymore. I didn’t hear planes or cars or much of anything. I hadn’t even seen a human since I left Jean in her house. I decided to venture out of the house and see if she had actually left.
 

Thinking I should be safe, I grabbed a kitchen knife from the top drawer next to the stove. I had no idea what I was up against, but I figured better safe than sorry. I still hadn’t seen the so-called monsters.

I left through the front door and hopped the fence. I nicked my finger by accident on the knife, drawing a bead of blood. I shoved my finger in my mouth. Her front door clattered against the side of the house, left wide open. My heart rate picked up. Did she leave it open or was someone else scavenging? I swallowed a lump in my throat and stepped over the threshold.