Present Day, Spokane WA USA

Joel Nier:

I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest, the echoes of a dream lingering in my mind. A quiet and haunting voice, called to me every night, a constant reminder of that day in the desert. I glanced at the clock—only an hour before I needed to be at work. The dread of the dream clung to me, a foreboding I couldn’t shake off.

I knew I couldn’t lay there much longer; my job at the bar down the road was already my second this year alone, and I had promised my mom that I would keep it. God knows she had already supported me enough after I left the service in the broken state I had been in.

It had taken me well over a year to get through rehabilitation and even longer to move out of the house I had grown up in. My parents had done everything they could to support me during this time, and I knew it. They were the only reason I was still alive after years of battling the depression that even to this day still haunted me.

It had been my mother’s encouragement that had finally gotten me out of the house and into some semblance of independence again, and I was thankful for it. Still, I struggled to hold myself together, and the recurring dream didn’t help. My mom, Kim, was my beacon of hope, and the reason I had found work here in Spokane, thanks to her friend Jim. A former military man like myself, it was because of that and his relationship with my mom that Jim had overlooked the last few times I had been late, but I knew that leniency wouldn’t last forever.

I swung my feet over the bed and felt fur between my toes. I smiled wearily and looked down to see Kip laying on my pants and shirt, “Hey, bud, are you keeping those warm for me?” I said. Kip was my newest addition to my life, an eleven-month-old black cat that had wandered into my apartment when my door was open one night. I didn’t know where he had come from, but I was thankful all the same for the companionship the little guy offered—even if Kip seemed to be there only for the food I had left out and now the occasional cuddle session.

Kip had made a habit of finding the comfiest piece of clothing lying on the ground to make his bed, and this morning was no exception. Seeing Kip’s contented expression, I laughed, “I still need those, little guy. Mind letting me have them?” After a moment, Kip just yawned and lazily rolled over before falling back asleep. 

I shook my head at him before going to my dresser and grabbing my nicest black shirt along with my old worn-out work jeans, and headed for the bathroom. It was clear to me that Kip wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, so I let him be as I took a quick shower. As the hot water cascaded over my skin, I shook my head, pushing the memories away. I didn’t want to think about them now; the memories of the past only brought back everything, and that was just too painful.

Losing so much had been hell for me, and I just wanted to move past it. Today was one of those days where that seemed impossible. Even after a decade, I couldn’t shake the nightmares. After my shower, I got dressed and returned to the room. I didn’t have many pictures, but I did have one of my dad from his navy days.

My dad had been everything to me: a hero, my mentor, my driving force. The photo was a constant reminder of the man he had been and what I aspired to be. I was going to be 34 in a few weeks and still lived in this small apartment. That wasn’t the life my dad had envisioned for me. Even before his death from cancer, he had urged me to be more, to do more, to live more.

“Joel, you have so much potential,” he used to say, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and concern. “Don’t waste it.”

I never understood why that had been so difficult. It wasn’t that I was homeless or jobless, but there never seemed to be enough. I didn’t make friends easily, and having never stayed anywhere long other than in Baghdad during my service, I had no real network to build upon. Maybe it was my fault the way I was; I didn’t know for sure, but I did blame myself.

Kip padded over to me, and I leaned down, ruffling his ears, happy for the distraction. “Thanks, little guy. Let’s get us something to eat.” Kip purred happily, and for a moment, I was convinced that was all I needed—someone whom I took care of and who, in turn, took care of me.

I flicked on the TV, the sudden burst of light and sound momentarily filling the void of my quiet apartment. The news anchor’s voice was a dull murmur in the background as I shuffled into the kitchen. I filled the coffee maker with water, the gentle pour a soothing rhythm against the harsh buzz of my earlier alarm.

As the machine sputtered to life, I grabbed a bagel, tossing it into the toaster. The scent of coffee mingled with the warmth of toasting bread, a small comfort against the chill of the morning. On the TV, the anchor discussed something about a newly discovered celestial body. "Its trajectory is bringing it closer to Earth than initially predicted," the anchor said, "but experts urge the public to remain calm as they monitor the situation closely."

I glanced at my reflection in the darkened window above the sink. Shaggy brown hair fell into my eyes, and I brushed it away impatiently. My blue eyes, usually bright and alert, looked back at me, tired and clouded with the remnants of my dream. I was tall, my frame well-built from my military days, though now carrying the weight of my past. I didn’t have time for reminiscing; I had a job to get to, a life to keep piecing together, one day at a time.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a hurried bite of my breakfast. Kip meowed from under the table, a gentle reminder of his presence. "Alright, alright," I muttered, filling Kip’s bowl with kibble. The cat purred, weaving between my legs as he began to eat.

I finished my coffee and grabbed my jacket, keys jingling in my hand as I gave Kip a quick pat on the head. "Be good, bud," I said, though Kip was too busy eating to pay me any mind.

I stepped out into the crisp morning air, the cold biting into my skin and causing my old wounds to ache. I winced and touched my back where the scar was. "I’ll be okay," I said to reassure myself as I started jogging toward my truck in the parking lot. As I ran, I saw a few of my neighbors outside, clustered in small groups, talking animatedly.

Curious, I approached a group of them. Mrs. Thompson, an elderly woman who had always been kind to me, was in the middle of the conversation. “Morning, Mrs. Thompson,” I greeted her. “What’s going on?”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with concern. “Joel, have you seen the news? They’re saying something strange is happening with the planets. It’s all very unsettling.”

I nodded, trying to appear casual. “Yeah, I heard something about that. What are they saying exactly?”

Another neighbor, Mr. Patel, chimed in. “It’s not just the planets. There are reports of strange phenomena all over the world. People disappearing, unusual weather patterns, even animals behaving oddly. No one seems to know what’s going on.”

My mind raced as I processed their words. “Sounds like a lot of speculation,” I said, trying to downplay the unease that was creeping up my spine. “I’m sure the authorities will figure it out.”

Mrs. Thompson shook her head. “I hope you’re right, Joel. But it’s hard not to worry when everything feels so off.”

I forced a smile. “Just take it one day at a time. That’s all we can do.”

If I hadn’t been running out of time, I probably would have stayed and helped to ease their concerns more than I already had, but I really couldn’t afford to be late again. Jim had given me enough chances, and I didn’t want to repay that kindness by being late once more.

Pushing the distraction aside I continued to my truck, their conversation echoing in my mind.  I reached my old '07 Ford Ranger. The faded blue paint and worn seats held memories of countless cross-country trips. As I turned the key, the engine hummed to life, enveloping me in a familiar warmth. The radio clicked on, an old country song about wheat and beer playing in the background as I looked behind myself. I shifted into reverse and began to pull out.

At that moment, a figure stepped out from behind the car next to mine, and in a brief instance of panic, I almost didn’t hit the brake in time. With my heart racing, I yelled, “Hey! What are you doing?” The man turned his head to look at me with a realization of what had almost happened. The man glanced back up for a moment and then walked away quickly, heading toward the apartments I had just left. Frustrated, I pulled out and continued to leave the parking lot, rushing to make it to work on time.

As I drove, I noticed others on the sides of the roadway, some making panicked calls and others looking worried. Stopping at the light, I stuck my head out of the window and asked a passerby, “Hey, do you know what’s going on?”

The man looked at me with wide eyes. “It’s all over the news. Something big is happening. They’re not saying exactly what, but it’s serious.”

I thanked him and drove on, my mind racing. Arriving at Jim’s, I pulled around to the back and parked in my usual spot under a spruce tree next to the dumpsters. Exiting the car, the radio clicked off, and I shut the door, now noticing that there weren’t any other vehicles in the parking lot. I paused for a moment, looking around and not seeing anyone else— “I can’t be the first one here, can I?” I knew that at the very least, David and Jamie should already be inside prepping for service.

Worry tugging at my mind, I walked up to the back door and rang the bell, waiting for someone to answer. After what seemed like several minutes, no one came. I tried again, ringing the bell several times and knocked on the door loudly, hoping that perhaps I just hadn’t been heard. Again, no one answered. I suddenly felt very alone, like I was the last person on earth, and a sense of despair crept its way into me.

Trying not to panic, I thought to myself, “Maybe they had to close for some reason and forgot to tell me...” I walked around the side of the bar to the front and noticed that there were absolutely no cars driving on the normally very busy roadway.

Unsettled, I peered through the windows, trying to see if anyone was inside and found no one. The lights were left on, and some chairs were moved to sit in front of the TV at the bar. The TV was still playing, showing a news anchor speaking about something and scenes of a presidential motorcade making its way to a large jumbo jet that appeared to be heavily modified.

I tried the door next and, to my surprise, found it unlocked. Hesitating, I opened it and slowly walked through. As I stepped into the doorway, the sound of the TV filled the void of silence. I examined my surroundings; a coffee cup still steaming sat on the table, the remote next to it, and a half-eaten breakfast burrito was on the bartop. It was as if they had been there one moment and the next they were gone.

If the door had been locked, I might be able to explain away this situation, but Jamie was responsible and reliable. Leaving the bar unattended and the door unlocked? Something was wrong, and I could feel it in my core.

I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and began to dial my boss to see what was happening. Something on the TV caught my attention. "We just got confirmation from our correspondent at the White House that the president has been evacuated onto the National Airborne Operations Center, or what some people are nicknaming the 'Doomsday Plane.'"

I looked at the TV and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. "We now know that the president’s cabinet has been evacuated with him, and other members in the line of succession have been brought to different secure safehouses throughout the country." The broadcast continued, "Major General Gains joins us no—" Suddenly, the screen flickered, and the broadcast was replaced by silent static.

Fear rose in my heart as a quiet certainty filled my mind that something terrible was happening. Flashbacks of my time in Iraq passed before my eyes, taking all my willpower to suppress. I relied on my military training to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. Heart pounding, I looked back at my phone and began to dial my mom—I needed to know if she was alright.

It rang for a painfully long time until finally reaching her voicemail. "Mom! Please pick up, it's Joel. I’m okay, but I need to know if you are too. Please call me back. I love you."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it for a solid moment before dialing her again—nothing. Again, nothing. I tried for a fourth and fifth time to get ahold of my mom, but she wouldn’t answer. It was painful not knowing.

I looked back up at the TV still showing static when suddenly the Emergency Alert System tone blared to life from it and my phone, cutting through the silence like a blade. A blend of urgency and dread. It began with a low, guttural hum, like the distant growl of an approaching storm before rising in pitch, morphing into a staccato rhythm.

Startled, I jumped up in surprise. Then a message began to play:

"EMERGENCY ALERT"

"Incoming Catastrophic Event"

"Immediate Action Required: Seek Shelter"

A man began to speak on the TV, "Dear Citizens," he said in a somber tone, "We have failed you. For the sake of our great nation and the world, take shelter. Survive what is to come."

Instructions followed, now playing in a robotic voice:

"Immediate Actions:"

"Seek shelter immediately."

"Survive."

The message and the alert cut off into a deafening void of silence, as if all the sound in the world had been sucked into nothingness. Stunned, I looked at my phone for a long moment—and then the world began to shake around me.