Sanctuary (5 page)

“What do you think is going on?” she asked.

The elevator bonged as they passed the second floor, and she winced. Their safe time was half over.

He replaced his glasses and took a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know, but it has something to do with the people who were attacked by those aliens.” He swallowed hard, and then continued, “It seems like they were infected with something that is making them…sick, to say the least.”

“And they are all attacking people?”

“It seems like it.” He shuddered.

The elevator bonged again, announcing the third floor. A scream did the same. Jennie almost wished Pastor Billy would take her hand again.

Hugh Harris stepped off th
e
elevator and glanced down the empty corridor. At the end of the hall, white light flooded into the apartment complex. Because the weakened sun reflected off the James River, it created an illusion of bright sunlight. Hugh was not fooled. No reason, really, to wear the four-hundred-dollar sunglasses his girlfriend had bought him. Ex-girlfriend, that is.

On his high school biology teacher’s salary, he couldn’t keep up with Clarissa’s needs. Daddy’s girl. No way could he spend money on her the way her daddy did. Maybe that’s why she grew tired of him. Maybe that’s why she moved on.

He shrugged out of his short pity party. Why was his mind even going there? Well, at least he got the apartment out of the deal, a nice waterfront condo on the eighth floor—if he could afford to keep it.

Juggling the two plastic grocery bags to his left hand, Hugh dug into his right pocket for his keys. A yawn made his eyes tear up, and his jaw clicked as it reached its limit. He made a growling sound and closed his mouth. “Insomnia sucks!” he yelled into the empty hall.

When he decided to go to the grocery store at six in the morning, he had hoped to avoid the throng. Even so, a small crowd had milled through the nearly empty shelves. He made do with what he could scavenge: a few boxes of Hamburger Helper but no meat, olive loaf, and a jumbo-sized carton of powdered milk.

Tiger, his silver tabby cat, met him at the door with a meow. Hugh narrowed his eyes at the cat and quickly shut the door before the cat escaped. “Better luck next time, Buddy.”

The cat turned up its nose, trotted past him, jumped to the window sill, and slithered behind the curtain. Hugh set the bags on the kitchen counter. The strain from the bags left his fingers bound, and he flexed them to relieve the pressure. He yawned again. The muted light from the closed curtains called him back to bed.

One at a time, he set the bags into the fridge without unloading them. He promised himself he’d do it later and headed for the bedroom. He rubbed his watering eyes. After undressing and snuggling under the brown duvet, his breathing became even.

The thin veil of sleep broke the moment the room started to shake. Bolting upright, Hugh stared at the red numbers on the alarm clock.
9:49
. The angry numbers glared at him and the lamp fell from the nightstand. Hugh’s heart was in his throat as if to escape the rumbling that seized his chest.

“Earthquake? Impossible.”

Earthquakes just didn’t happen in Virginia, not like this. The thought occurred to him that it was probably jet noise, but the planes at Langley rarely came this close to his apartment complex. Though his apartment building was only twelve stories, it dominated the waterfront along the James River. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he remembered 9/11.

He padded along the carpet and yanked the curtain open. The sky was the same milky blue that it was everyday—faded and subdued from the lack of reflective sunlight. There was not a single jet or contrail in it. His cat still slept soundly on the windowsill, completely unperturbed by the shaking building.

Pressing his cheek to the cold glass, he looked down at the bridge and blinked hard. Even from this distance, he could see animals crawling over cars, and people running away from them on foot. Hugh counted twenty of the four-legged beasts. They moved in a dog-like way but looked like lions from this distance. The wild animals attacked everyone on foot and ripped people from cars.

What on earth?

Hugh backed from the window. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and woke him completely. He snatched his jeans from the computer desk chair and rushed to the kitchen. As he grabbed the cordless from the charger, he tried to slip his shirt on. He dialed 911, setting the phone in the crook of his neck, and pulled his pants up.

Without ringing, the automated female voice told him: “All operators are busy at this time. Please stay on the line and the next available operator will take your call.”

Shaking his head, Hugh hung up and attempted to call his parents, but instead of a dial tone, the phone line remained in a perpetual loop of busy signals. Furrowing his brow, he set the phone back in its charger. His neck felt tight. He’d put his shirt on backwards.
Television.
He darted back toward his living room while he spun the shirt around his neck.

The buttons on the remote needed unsticking before he could even push the button. He threw himself to the couch as the screen warmed up. A subdued scream poured through the speakers before the picture showed. He clenched his jaw. Once the screen blinked into place, the video showed the front of the Washington Monument. Those same alien dog-type things littered the otherwise pristine lawn.

“We’re receiving reports and footage around the world. In all places, it seems the same. Again, we ask that if you are hearing this report, you should remain inside and lock, even bolt, your doors.”

Hugh glanced at his apartment door and confirmed that it was locked.

“It appears the aliens have attacked in a manner that our military was completely unprepared for. They have assailed civilians on an individual basis, seemingly at random.”

Hugh watched scenes from around the world flood the screen. There were night shots from Japan, early morning attacks streaming from Los Angeles, and broad daylight assaults in New York City. All the while, the nervous voice-over continued, “The White House is preparing a statement to be aired when the President is available. We have heard from our press team in D.C. that the President is currently safe in his underground bunker. Please get to safety, yourself, as soon as possible. The aliens emit a rumbling sound and vibration you can feel as they approach. If you feel and hear it, heed the warning and get to safety.  Here in the studio, we have Dr. Teruya, a Cox News contributor and psychologist to discuss the aliens.”

An Asian woman’s face came on. Her expression was stoic as she stood in front of a green screen which continued to play images of the attacks. She froze the picture on a close-up of one of the aliens. “The characteristics of these beasts are not what I had expected from the aliens. Their behavior seems more primitive than I would have thought by studying their ships over the past few weeks. This attack has taken us by surprise.

“The sharpened canines and pug shape of their faces would make oral communication difficult for their kind. But if you look at their claw-like hands, it is possible that they may have formed the ships we see, at least physically.”

The first reporter’s voice had become surer, as if feeding off the confidence of the doctor. “Most forms of communication with government officials outside of the direct wire to the White House are offline. So, we’re relying on what the professionals in our studio are able to determine. In your professional opinion, Dr. Teruya, you are not sure if these animal-like creatures are the aliens themselves as opposed to being what? A pet? A weapon?”

The Asian woman nodded. “Right. I can’t determine it myself, nor can we find any intelligence to make a determination. But my feeling is that these…Shisa could be either the aliens themselves or some variant. Possibly even a soldier.”

“Shisa?”

A blush rose to the Asian woman’s face. “That’s what these aliens remind me of, Bob. In Okinawa, we have statues of Shisa, lion dogs, outside of many homes. In truth, the aliens look much like them.”

The camera panned back to Bob, the original reporter who said, “Thank you Dr. Teruya.  As we await more news from the White House, reports are coming in—”

Hugh muted the television and flipped the channel to another news station. In fascination, he studied the newscasts, riveted as image after image showed Shisa attacking in every city of the world.

His scientific mind took over, and he grew calmer as he analyzed the alien behavior. His master’s degree was in animal behavior and psychology. The actions of the aliens seemed totally unlike the predatory conduct of Earth’s mammals. Instead of attacking the weak or old, the aliens singled out specific people for no visible reason. If it were a military excursion, he decided they would most likely attack the strongest. But it seemed that wasn’t the plan of attack either.

A chilling realization poured over him. They left the victims alive. Every single time, the wounded on the ground were seriously injured but alive.

“What if…” Jumping off the couch, he rushed to the window. Mercury Boulevard sat just below. How many injured and bleeding people would be lying on it? The coward in him wanted to crawl back under the covers, but the hero in him wanted to rush out to the streets to see who might need help. He rubbed his face with his hand, forcing himself to make up his mind.

He glanced at the clock on the Blu-ray player. He’d been watching the attacks on a loop for over an hour. The rumbling in his chest had completely subsided. The growl in the distance had faded into white noise, easily ignored.

The coward in him lost. If the noise was distant, the Shisa would be far away, right? He could do this. There had to be some way to help. Slipping on his Converse sneakers, he darted into the hall before he could change his mind.

When he turned the key in the lock, the elevator bonged its arrival on his floor. He headed for it just before the doors shushed open.

Mr. Lee, his neighbor, exited the elevator, shoulders bent and wringing his hands. The little old man was mumbling to himself in Korean. Hugh stood aside to let Mr. Lee pass, but the man ran into him anyway.

“Mr. Lee?”

The short man jumped back and stared up at Hugh, his face twisted in horror.

“Are you okay, Mr. Lee?”

“Mr. Harris.” He shook the terrified look from his face, but his eyes stayed wide. “What you doing?”

“I am going outside to see if anyone needs help. I tried to call 911, but all the lines seem busy.”

Mr. Lee’s expression turned sour; his face pinched, as though he’d eaten a lemon. He shook his head and grabbed Hugh by the elbow. “No, Mr. Harris. You no go outside. Sick people out. Hurt people. Bite people.”

Hugh attempted to decipher Mr. Lee’s broken English. “Mr. Lee, I know that there are hurt people out there. I want to go see if there’s anything I can do.”

“No, Mr. Harris. No go outside. No one to help, only sick people. Sick people bite.” To emphasize what he was saying, Mr. Lee gnashed his teeth together and acted as though he’d bite Hugh’s forearm.

Pulling his arm from Mr. Lee’s grasp, Hugh frowned. Shaking his head, he said, “It’s okay, Mr. Lee. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Mr. Lee dropped his hands to his sides, and the color drained from the old man’s face. But, he didn’t say another word. His shoulders slumped when Hugh pressed the button, and the elevator door popped open in response. The old man held Hugh’s gaze until the doors to the elevator shut.

The elevator met the lobby, and Hugh felt a vibration in his jeans pocket. Pulling out his iPhone, he saw a text from Clarissa.

U ok?

The screaming started the moment the elevator doors shushed open. All the little hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he stepped into the empty lobby. The racket came from outside, but it made his blood run cold. He remembered the phone in his hand.

Fine U?
He texted back.

There was only one bar on his phone, and it wavered in and out. The text was trying to send but didn’t seem to be making it through. He wondered how long ago Clarissa might have sent her text.

He shoved the phone back into the rear pocket of his jeans and headed straight for the glass doors of the lobby.

“Where are you going?” The super stood in the open door of his first floor apartment in a burgundy sweat suit. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his left hand and pulled a backscratcher out of the back of his shirt with the other hand.

Hugh narrowed his eyes at him. Fred looked ten years older than Hugh, with his receding hairline and beer gut. But since they graduated high school together, Hugh knew that he was likely twenty-six as well.

“I was going out,” Hugh said, shortly. Usually he didn’t give the super the time of day. Fred Black was always on a power kick even though he had none.

“You can’t go nowhere. I bolted the door.” Fred pointed the backscratcher at Hugh and gave him an ‘I-gotcha’ grin.