End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  "Um, thank you, that's very nice of you," she said. She knew it was an evasive response, partly due to being in a very awkward position.

  "We could certainly use some gadgets like those in the Senate," he said, pointing at the tiny Bluetooth devices.

  "They're really cool," she said back. Dammit, Samantha, you sound like a teenage girl.

  "It was nice meeting you, Samantha, Motorola certainly found the right spokesperson for their products. A fantastic combination of beauty and intelligence."

  Before Samantha could respond, Senator Bryant turned away and met up with his group, a few booths down the way. She went back to her booth, feeling relief that the politicians had moved on, fished her pocketbook out from her purse, and placed his card within. She couldn't explain why she wanted to hold on to it. It could have been ambition. Maybe he was being earnest in his interest in their products. Securing a government contract would no doubt mean fireworks for her career.

  For Senator Bryant, his attraction to Samantha was motivated by old memories of his first love in high school. It felt like an eternity ago. It was before he got into to politics. Before he became Senator Bryant. And before he did the things he had to do to get there. Samantha displayed an uncanny resemblance to Meghan, his first real girlfriend in the ninth grade. He couldn't remember a more perfect relationship in his life, even as an adult. The wonder of the world, everything newly discovered about life was at their fingertips. After two years of dating, she was struck and killed by a car while crossing the street late at night after leaving Bryant's home. The car had been driven by the captain of the football team, drunk on alcohol after a wild celebration of the team's victory that night. Samantha was a grown-up version of Meghan, but even Senator Bryant couldn't figure it out at the time. He genuinely felt like they had met before. This time, it wasn't just a pick up line.

  Samantha looked at the time on her phone. It was a few minutes past two. "Three more hours," she thought.

  As she took a seat, the lights throughout the entire convention center went out. Silence persisted, followed by confused clamoring. The lights came back on then went out again for a few seconds longer.

  Following a lengthier blackout, the lights slowly came back on. Samantha watched as the Senator's team quickly scrambled away from the booths and towards the exit of the convention center.

  "What the shit is going on now?" a man from the booth across from her asked.

  Samantha shrugged as she rose from her chair. Something indeed was happening. Derrick, one of her twenty-something associates, ran over with panic stricken across his face. As he approached, the lights went out again. With so many tablets and phones lying about and running off their own power, the lack of overhead lights was not detrimental. More than anything, it was just strange.

  "Did you hear the news?" Derrick asked.

  "What news? What happened?" Samantha asked in return.

  "Terrorist attack on Wall Street happened like thirty minutes ago."

  "And we're just hearing about it now?" Samantha asked.

  "Check your phone," Derrick responded, gripping his smartphone with one hand while scrolling his finger across its screen. "I'm losing signal though. This ain't good."

  Samantha fished her android from her purse and went directly to her news app. There was no denying what Derrick had told her with the very first Red banner headline:

  Terror Attack Blasts Wall Street!

  She attempted to read more, but there was little information beyond the time of the attack and estimated casualties. The center grew quiet as the expo commissioner, a plump man in a dark suit, walked onto a nearby podium carrying a flashlight. Several police followed him on stage in a show of authority.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that due to circumstances beyond our control, the expo is now closed. We seem to be facing unexplained power shortages, which raises several security issues. We kindly ask that presenters close up your booths and all personnel exit the premises immediately in a quick and orderly fashion. There are also reports of a terrorist attack in New York City, which has raised the national terror alert to its highest level. Please do not panic. Just make sure you get all your personal belongings and make your way to the exits."

  The man walked off the stage in a hurry with the police force following him off the stage. That was that. He didn't elaborate on any more details. In the unsettling atmosphere before her, Samantha pondered the whereabouts of the politicians who were walking around only moments ago. She wondered how they were going to respond to the mandated evacuation, but she couldn't see them anywhere. They had vanished without a trace.

  "Let's get everyone together, I'll need help getting our booth packed up," Samantha said to Derrick.

  "They could be anywhere right now," Derrick responded. "But if they know what's good for them, they'll meet up here."

  "Please call them," Samantha said. Derrick sighed and pulled out his phone.

  "I only have Amy's number, but I'll try," he responded.

  Samantha took out her phone and instinctively dialed Paul. She didn't like the prospect of a terror attack only a state away from her family. At that time, more than ever, she needed assurance. There was no answer. It didn't even go to his voicemail, which she thought odd. She tried again and again with no response. She sent text after text, hoping to get a response:

  Call me back.

  Where are you?

  Are you guys okay?

  After each text, she waited and received no reply. As requested, people marched out of the convention center in a semi-orderly fashion. No real panic had taken over yet. It was a power failure, and hopefully nothing else. They felt that the Wall Street bombing, though concerning, was in no way related to the unusual power outage. They looked forward to leaving the convention center and getting to their hotel rooms. They could call their families, watch the news, and hopefully get on the Internet. Screw the convention center.

  They shuffled out with the light of their phones shining onto their faces. Every single person was immersed in their cell phone worlds, trying desperately to contact loved ones and read about what was going on.

  "Anyone getting a signal?" an especially frustrated man called out to the crowd.

  Only grumbles followed. Everyone seemed to have the same problem but were in complete denial about it.

  "Almost got something," a woman said to herself, relieved.

  She then hit her phone in anger as its signal went out. The slow-moving crowd nearly tripped and tumbled over each other due to their collective smartphone distractions, though they managed to exit the doors outside where a whole new world of problems awaited.

  "Where is everyone?" Samantha asked red-haired Amy, the youngest of the team members, as she finally arrived.

  "I think I saw Javier and Nick coming over here. They're shutting the place down." Amy laughed. "Guess we get out of work early today."

  "I know," Samantha said. "I need to make sure we have everyone so we can go back to our hotel rooms. Phones signals are down, but we can call our families through the hotel landline."

  "What happened? Why do we need to call our families?" Amy asked, perplexed.

  Samantha was entirely confused. How could Amy be so out-of-the-loop?

  "Sorry, I was in the restroom when the lights went out. Scared the crap out of me," Amy added.

  "Amy, honey, they reported a terrorist attack in New York City. They're calling it the Wall Street Bombing," Samantha said.

  Amy covered her mouth in shock.

  "Oh my God. How did it happen?"

  "Do you have any family in the city?" Samantha asked.

  "No. My family lives here in Denver."

  "Okay, great. Well, we all need to call our families from the hotel room. They've raised the terror alert to its highest level."

  "Which is?" Amy asked.

  "Batshit crazy," Derrick added, walking up with Javier and Nick.

  Commotion surrounded them on all sides as other vendo
rs flocked to their booth and attempted to get everything packed up and secure under the low-visibility of artificial lights from phones and tablets. A few men ran past Samantha, almost knocking her over. She regained her composure and moved to address her group.

  "We're two people short. Where're Brooke and Tony?"

  The team looked around to the black sea of uncertainty that was before them. There was no telling.

  "If anyone has their numbers, please call them," Samantha added.

  "No signal on mine," Derrick said, holding his phone in the air.

  "Me neither," Amy said. "This really fucking blows."

  "In the meantime, help me pack up so we can go," Samantha said.

  Her team complied and tried their best to close the booth and secure the Motorola products while not succumbing to the growing sense of unease brewing within the center.

  Samantha finally made it outside with her Motorola team tagging along behind her. The city streets outside the convention center were typically chaotic.

  "Must be rush hour," Samantha thought while looking at the stagnant flow of traffic in both directions.

  The crowds from the convention center littered out onto the streets, aimless in their pursuit back to safety. For Samantha and her team, the Marriott Hotel was within walking distance. They were fortunate to have booked the rooms when they did only a few blocks away. She turned around and tried to find a spot outside where they weren't blocking anyone else. She waved the group over to the side under a small redwood.

  "We're going to head back to the Marriott. I want everyone to call their families, okay?"

  They acknowledged her request with head nods and assurances. "Then we meet at the lobby at about," Samantha stopped, looked at the time on her phone, then looked back up, "three." It felt like they were on a field trip, and she the teacher, though at twenty-eight, she was only older than them by four or six years.

  "Okay, Sam," Derrick said. Brooke and Tony arrived last. They glanced at each other with guilty looks then back to Samantha. They had been making out in a back room for the past thirty minutes and had no idea what was going on. They were shook up by all the pandemonium happening outside.

  "Hey," Samantha said, trying to get their full attention. "Everything is going to be okay."

  The hotel lobby was a welcome sight even in its own chaotic condition. Swarms of expo attendees flooded its doors, trying to get back to their rooms. Apparently Samantha wasn't the only one who had considered the hotel's landline phones. The most significant aspect of the hotel was that it still had power. To see the lampshades, registers, air conditioning, and other amenities functioning normally was a hugely relieving sight.

  The Motorola group dispersed and made their way back to their rooms. Samantha ran into her room and tried her cell phone again. There was no answer from Paul or any responses text messages.

  "Motherfucker!" Samantha shouted, tossing the phone on the bed.

  She went for the remote and turned on the television. As the screen lit up, she retrieved her phone and scrolled through its contacts. First she tried Paul again. There was no answer. She tried Julie's phone. No answer. She tried her parents who lived in Vermont. No answer. She tried Paul's father, who lived in Florida. There was no answer. Samantha dropped her cell phone as the hotel receiver slid from her grip. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  She closed her eyes and wiped the tear away. The frustration was borderline overwhelming. The television volume was all the way down, but the images were unmistakable. The screen glowed with the red fires of an inferno. Samantha took notice and tried to keep up with the banner moving rapidly on the bottom of the screen.

  There was a title above the news banner that read: War World III?

  Samantha stood up and walked closer to the television while holding the remote in one hand. She flipped to the next station and saw the exact same image. An entire city on fire. She flipped to the next channel and was greeted with several aerial images of a charred landscape. Her thumb pressed hard onto the volume button as a reporter's voice grew louder, narrating the images with torn emotion.

  The news caption read: Nuclear Attack Devastates East Coast.

  It seemed like footage from a movie. It had to be a movie. Who had ever heard of such a thing? The reporter's words differed:

  "Tremendous shock and awe as history takes a cataclysmic turn following the presumed deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent Americans. Reports are scattered and unverifiable at the moment, but what we know so far is that several key targets were attacked with nuclear devices. Several states within a close proximity of each other are reported to have been hit, including Florida, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Maine."

  Pennsylvania was all the only word Samantha needed to hear.

  "Oh God, no!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  The reporter's voice continued over images of smoke clouds, craters, and massive destruction on a global scale.

  "No one is sure who is behind the attacks. There has been no word from the President or any government officials concerning the attacks that occurred in succession with each other shortly after Five P.M. Eastern Time."

  His voice became choked up as he attempted to continue. Samantha's face poured with tears the minute her state was named.

  "There are literally no words to describe the...literally no words to describe what has happened. Rumors of an attack in Washington D.C. have surfaced as well. All of this after a bombing inside the New York Stock Exchange around 3:30 P.M. Eastern Time. A great horror has been inflicted on our nation that we're only beginning to truly understand."

  Samantha looked at the clock in the hotel room. It was shortly after three. She ran back to the landline phone and dialed Paul and Julie again. She picked up her cell phone and sent Paul another text, her longest one yet:

  Been trying to reach you guys for hours. I'm so scared. Please God, I hope you're okay. Attacks everywhere. Call me back. I love you both.

  She stuck the phone in her pocket and wiped her eyes again. Her smartphone was a pointless endeavor. She had been cut off. How many others were facing the same fate? Tears flowed like rain water, turning her mascara into sopping rings around her bloodshot eyes.

  "Residents on the West Coast are urged to seek cover immediately as no identifiable targets have been hit anywhere from California to Ohio. Every state, every landmark, every place imaginable could very well be the next target. The President was addressing reporters in the White House Rose Garden shortly before the attacks. His current location or status has not been confirmed.

  Nuclear fallout and radiological contamination have deterred further investigation. The status of Washington D.C., at this time is uncertain. Reports are mixed. I repeat, all residents in Central and Eastern time zones are strongly advised to avoid any major landmarks or cities and find safe cover immediately."

  A deep feeling of sickness came over Samantha. She moved to the window of the second floor and looked out to the city below. Word was spreading quickly. People weren't walking anymore, they were running. The congested roads turned into bedlam as commuters--who most likely heard the reports of the nuclear strikes--tried to best each other by driving on the sides of the road and the median.

  Where was she to go? What was she to do? She then remembered the number she had in her pocketbook, the number to a United States Senator. Clearly, he would have some answers in her time of need. What did she have to lose? She fished the card from her pocketbook and dialed his number that he had written on the back while trying to control her frequent sobs. The line rang and rang when suddenly she heard a voice at the end.

  "Hello?" the voice said.

  "Hi, is this Senator Bryant?" Samantha asked.

  "Yes, it is, who am I speaking to?"

  "Mr. Bryant, I'm Samantha Thompson, we meet briefly today at the technology expo. You gave me your card."

  A silence came over the other line. Then he continued. "Yes, Samantha. My goodness, are you okay?" H
e was very direct in his line of questioning, as if he had some awareness to what was happening.

  "No, I'm afraid I'm not. I need help. I heard the news, I just. I think I'm going into shock. My family lives in Beech Creek, Pennsylvania. The nuclear attacks. What is happening?" The more Samantha spoke, the more her breathing became rapid and uncontrollable.

  Senator Bryant took notice of her state. "Samantha, are you still there? Listen, we have to take cover. Take a breath. Calm down. Just stay with me now, everything is going to be fine."

  Samantha began to hyperventilate; her face grew pale to accompany her cold sweats. She gripped the phone to continue their conversation.

  "I--think--I'm going--into--some--type--shock," she said.

  "Tell me where you are and I'll send a car to come get you. I can keep you safe. I'm not going to lose you again."

  Samantha looked back at the television. Several reporters sat around a news desk with stoic, horrified expressions on their faces. Samantha spoke back into the phone.

  "Feeling--lightheaded."

  "Where are you at?" Bryant demanded.

  "At the Marriott." She stopped and tried to breathe in, but her throat tightened. Her air passage felt blocked. She wheezed into the phone, as if dying.

  "The Marriott? The one by the Convention Center?" Bryant shouted.

  "Yes..." Samantha managed to get through.

  "What room?"

  "Two thirty six," Samantha belted out. "No, wait, two thirty seven."

  "Two thirty seven, got it. I'll send a car over for you immediately."

  Just as Bryant finished his words, the power went out, and with that, the phone line. Samantha dropped the phone and fell to her bed clutching her sides. She couldn't breathe, and with each restrictive gasp, she grew more lightheaded. The horrific images on the television disappeared from sight in an instant. She hit her pillow softly, in the new silence of her room, then passed out.

  Ten minutes later, her door burst open, revealing two burly men in beige suits. They stumbled in with haste and exhaustion. The first man had black sideburns and brandished a crowbar, while the other, displaying a trimmed flattop, followed.