Armageddon
By Johanna Beck
“Miranda, wake up, we need to go.”
“What?”
“There’s no time to explain. Here, put these clothes on and grab a jacket and shoes. I need to wake your brother up.”
I blink slowly, mechanically going through the motions of slipping on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I grab my jacket before leaving my room. Meg is already in the living room. She glances at me but doesn’t say anything. Not that I expect her to; she’s barely spoken a word since she was three. My attention shifts to my mom bustling Thomas into the room. He’s still blinking the sleep from his eyes and clutching his stuffed dragon, Gerald, to his chest. Dad shuffles in next, his disheveled hair causing my worry to spike. My mom’s shirt is buttoned wrong and only half-tucked into a skirt that doesn’t match.
I can’t stand the tense silence anymore. “What’s happening?”
“Something came up at work,” Dad says without looking at me. He types quickly on his phone. “We’re flying to Alaska.”
My brother rushes to the door, excited about this impromptu vacation. Meg gets up slowly and takes my mother’s hand, and they go out. I follow them, shivering as I step out into the cold. It’s still dark out and only a few stars are visible through the glare of the streetlights. Dad bustles out after me. He doesn’t lock the door.
We drive to the airport in silence. The landscape beyond the windows is barely discernible. My dad’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel and my mother’s lips are moving, but no sound comes out. I think she’s praying.
When we arrive in Alaska we climb into a van that takes us through the winding country roads. There are trees everywhere.
The hours pass slowly with little to do in the nearly empty apartment. The few times I’ve ventured outside I can see a large rocket rising above the central building in the distance. That’s what they’re working on, though no one says why it’s so important.
A few days after we arrived, two buses full of people pull up in front of our building. I can’t help thinking that something bad is about to happen. Mom and Dad seem more anxious too. Even Thomas, who is normally pretty happy, sits quietly clutching his stuffed dragon to his chest, and Meg sits cross-legged on the floor slowly rocking back and forth.
That night, I lay in one of the beds, squished between Thomas and Meg. I can’t sleep, so I just lay on my back staring at the ceiling. A sense of foreboding fills me and I glance at each of my siblings through the pressing darkness. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I awake to Mom and Dad coming in arguing in hushed voices that go quiet when they see that I am awake. “Hey, honey,” my mother says. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I reply, because what else is there to say?
“That’s great, honey,” my mom says, an automatic response. “Now, help me get your siblings ready. We’re going to show you what we’ve been working on.”
I nod and gently shake Meg’s shoulder. Her eyes open and she sits up swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I turn next to Thomas and gently shake his shoulder, softly saying his name. He stirs, blinking slowly up at me. “Come on, Mom and Dad are going to show us their project.” His eyes widen and he scrambles out from under the covers, almost falling out of bed. The space ship that had gleamed in the morning light now stands tall like a sentry warning threats to stay away. Mom and Dad explain that it’s going to take people to another planet and that it’s a really important mission. Thomas immediately says that he wants to go and Mom smiles but her face scrunches like she’s about to cry. Meg takes Mom’s hand and then Dad’s as well. As we enter Dad pulls me aside while Mom, Thomas, and Meg go further ahead.
“Miranda,” he says and then pauses as if that word alone were difficult to get out. My mind has gone numb in an attempt to deal with the anxiety and terror battling inside of me. “There’s something bad coming. Something we’ve known about for a while and that we have been trying to find a solution to, but now we’re out of time. That’s why they’re sending the ship. To send people away from the threat.”
“What’s the threat?” I say before I can think to stop myself.
“We discovered something in the ocean,” he starts, “Something that scared us. And because we were scared, we made a bad decision that we put the earth in danger.” People always fear what they do not understand. It’s evident throughout history. “We found creatures, an entire civilization that have been living in the deepest parts of the ocean. They were terrifying, so we attacked, and then they sent a message saying that they were going to attack the surface. That’s why this project was started: to escape.” Aliens. World Domination. Armageddon. It all sounds like some story I might read to Meg and I wonder if all this is real or if I’ll wake in a few hours to the smell of pancakes and remember the assignment I forgot to do for history. “Why are you telling me this?”
Dad’s shoulders slump. Please be a dream. “There are pods in the ship, where people are going to be placed. But two people didn’t show up. The plan is to let the ship leave with them empty. But your mother and I…” he gulps, closing his eyes tightly before taking a deep breath. “We can’t let those places remain empty.” Dreams are such strange things. A subconscious stringing together memories, fears, and hopes, creating something both beautiful and terrifying all at once. It’s not a dream. I wish it was a dream. And suddenly it’s clear. I look at my sweet brother and sister. My parents would never choose themselves over us. But there are three of us and only two pods.
“Thomas and Meg are going,” I say. This must have been what they were arguing about when they came in to wake us. I can’t bring myself to be upset. And I don’t know if it’s resolve or just numbness.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats over and over. He’s crying now and pulling me into an embrace.
“It’s okay, daddy, it’s okay,” I whisper, clinging to him as tightly as I can. My eyes water but no tears fall and I wonder if I am broken.
I don’t know how long he holds me, but then he’s pulling away and wiping his eyes. He walks briskly over to the rest of our family. Up ahead two pods stand open, unused. They look ominous. Two black holes amid a hallway painted in the glow of red emergency lights.
Dad crouches down in front of Thomas and Meg. A strange buzzing fills my ears and I can see that Thomas is sobbing and Meg has silent tears running down her cheeks. I want to hold them close, pull them to me and never let go. But my body isn’t moving. I am a statue, an observer.
“It’ll be an adventure,” I hear Dad say. “You’re going to be explorers.”
“It’ll be okay,” I hear myself saying, as if from some great distance. “It’ll be like taking a nap and waking up in one of your adventure stories.” My mouth is disconnected from the rest of me. Something separate that refuses to acknowledge that I am a statue, an observer in this spiraling dream that has somehow overtaken reality.
There are more noises now. A part of me realizes that the ship is preparing to launch. What will happen if we stay here, in this ship, in this hallway? Will we starve? Will we run out of air? Or will the pull of gravity be too much on our bodies as the ship pulls free of Earth and launches into the darkness? Will they find our bodies when they awake or will we have by then disintegrated into nothing? I watch as my dad places Thomas and then Meg in the pods, closing them after one final whispered, “I love you.” We turn away, Mom clinging to Dad as if he is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. And perhaps he is. Perhaps if she lets go she will float away. Perhaps we all will.
We leave the ship and stand outside with the rest of the onlookers as the countdown booms over the speakers. The ground shakes. My ears pound with the sound of the launch. Black smoke fills the air leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I lift my hand to brush my bangs out of my eyes though in the morning darkness there is nothing to see. My face is wet. I’m crying.
Then unearthly sounds disrupt the silence. It comes from the direction of the coast: a terrible screeching, like grinding metal. I turn my head and in the distance a cloud of dust rises, resembling the cloud of smoke that the rocket left behind. Creatures with bone plates covering every visible inch of their bodies swarm towards us. Their heads remind me of the lizard skulls we looked at in zoology, only much larger and with needle-like teeth and claws. They move fast and there is nowhere to go. Their weapons, long, double-bladed scimitars, seem to suck away all light as they slash whatever happens to be in their way. I close my eyes letting the sounds of chaos float away. Soon, the darkness claims me and I am gone, slipping under the waters of endless sleep. The end of the world has come.
