I was in my elective psychology class when the first quake happened. I got a phone notification letting me know it wasn’t just local but international. That in itself was a pretty big deal as we never had earthquakes in Florida. It was even bigger news to learn that everyone on earth had felt some type of earthquake that day. 

CNN had a team of scientists on trying to explain what it could have been, with few answers and a lot of speculation between them. My parents just told me to get right with the lord and prepare for the end. To me it was a typical Wednesday and a random earthquake wasn’t going to make life better or worse. 

I had to go to classes and then to my shift at the restaurant since random earthquakes weren’t going to pay the bills. Unfortunately, life never seems to go down the path we’ve highlighted for ourselves. My coworkers were worried at Cheesecake Factory but it seemed as busy as it ever was and the shift went by quick. 

When the next quake came less than a week later it was twice as strong. The panic truly began. Every religion with an apocalypse started to shout about the oncoming end times. Scientists all over continued to delve deep into plate tectonics, the study of the earths core, and so on. It was a miracle when the one NASA intern that wasn’t pulled into tectonic researched noticed some odd smudges in a recent James Webb telescope photo. CNN was blaring on the TV as I showered. 

“It’s now confirmed that at least 10 unknown objects are heading toward us at speeds that science says are currently impossible. The president is authorizing-“

The power went out as I was drying off and I hurriedly went to get dressed. 

“I’m not going to get raptured or taken by aliens naked no no no,” I said to myself while pulling on my khaki shorts. My neighbors started running outside and yelling. I grabbed my phone as I pulled my “Beach Bum” t-shirt over my head and noticed I had no bars, not even the SOS. 

“Jon?” I heard outside the door. My neighbor Mr. Beasley was a kindly older man who chat with me at the apartment's mailboxes for 10 minutes too long most days. 

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Hey Mr. Beasley I don’t have any power or signal you want to come in?” I yelled while opening the door for him. The older pale man stood slightly hunched over with a worried look on his face. He was slightly taller than Jon’s six feet but his age was shrinking him quickly. His expression showed a bit of a nervous tic I hadn’t seen before. 

“Kid my neighbor has one of those battery ham radios. They said we need to go to the shelter on 8th street. I know it’s a dump but it’s not like we have a lot of options,” he said. As he was talking something shimmered behind him. A window reflection maybe? I thought to myself. 

“Um, I’m just a little confused Mr. Beasley. Have they said anything about what’s going on? Is it really some alien thing? Maybe they don’t like water like in that movie.” I responded while trying to catch a glimpse of the shimmer again. 

“This isn’t some damn movie kid,” Mr. Beasley said with some anger in his tone this time. For some reason his tic was getting worse. There it is again I thought. Another shimmer. What was going on? 

“Just come with me to the shelter,” Mr. Beasley said in a manner I’ve never heard from him. I looked at him in his eyes this time and saw desperation. It was like his life’s goal was to get me to that beat up storm shelter on 8th street. Normally I would have accepted it as compassion and maybe even vigilance over me. In this instance however, the entire scenario felt forced.

“I’m uh, good Mr. Beasley I’m going to go to my parents place and check on them. Have fun at the shelter though and watch out for Dirty Larry.” I replied and quickly closed the door on him. 

He made a garbled yelling noise and pounded on the door violently. What the fuck I thought to myself. The rest of the world outside seemed to be no better. I decided to climb out of my window instead of dealing with my insane neighbor and people were running around the streets yelling and pointing to the sky. I looked where they were pointing but didn’t see a thing. Maybe some more of that odd…shimmering? I focused on getting the hell out of the chaos and wanted to check on my parents as soon as possible. 

I wouldn’t be able to drive with all the people on the streets so my old RAV4 would have to stay at the apartments. Instead I started to head to the bike racks when I ran right into a desperate Mr. Beasley yet again. 

“Right now. The shelter Jon. Don’t make me take you,” he said panting hard. It seemed that he had ran down and followed me around the long way in a near instant. Impressive for a nearly 60 year old man. 

“Uh Mr. Beasley look I’m grateful-“ the last thing I remembered was him striking me in the temple with the back of a pistol.