Tell a Story to Me – Contest #8 – Books of the Blackout

Prompt: A permanent blackout forces mankind to rely on books for knowledge once held at the tap of a finger.

From @calluna’s writing contest, for more information please see the link:

https://steemit.com/tellastorytome/@calluna/tell-a-story-to-me-and-win-5-sbd-writing-contest-8-books-of-the-blackout-and-winners-of-7

My Entry:

“Do you even hear what I’m saying?”

Desmond Mayday looked up from his cell phone. He sat, sprawled out on the white leather couch, in their Los Angeles condo. On the television the LA Rams played a Monday Night Football game. He’d been on Twitter following the new star player of the Los Angeles Lakers. As a Vice President of Public Relations, and a former star player, Desmond knew he’d be answering a lot of questions.

“What Jasmine?” He asked his fiancee.

“Look, planning our wedding happens to be a lot of work. Can you please try to pay attention to what I’m saying? I need your help making some decisions about the cake. We can go nontraditional with a croquembouche?”

“A ‘cro’ . . . what?” He squinted his eyebrows in sudden concentration. The crowd on the television roared as Goff threw a touchdown pass. To the right of the television, out the open door to the balcony, Los Angeles Rams Stadium could be seen in the foothills of the Pacific Ocean just beyond. They lived downtown on the 67th floor.

“A croquembouche; its French with pastries.”

“Sounds good Jasmine. I just want a coffee cake on the table somewhere. Remember going to my Grandparents' second wedding and they had coffee cake.”

“That’s what I’m talking about Desmond. Some feedback here. That’s so awesome. And sentimental. Of course we’re going to have a coffee cake. This is going to be the best wedding.” And Jasmine began to tear up.

Then Desmond could see it out there on the ocean, a shadow from nowhere, hovering above the waves. Just a massive shape similar to the building they lived in blocking sun rays.

“Jasmine? Do you see that?” Desmond said, getting up, and dropping his phone on the floor.

“Holy . . . dear Jesus God . . . what in the world?” Jasmine piped.

Then the giant monstrosity dangling in the air put on a laser show. The power went out. Desmond and Jasmine walked out onto the balcony in awe. Then a computerized voice announced:

“People of Earth. This is Vrillon of the Galactic Empire. We now claim Earth as our own. Our spaceships will secure every major city around the globe. Power and communications have already been knocked out. Fighter craft will engage all military installations. You are doomed. And if this weren’t enough, we will now infect the population with the undead virus. That is all. Ha, ha, ha . . .”

The voice concluded, and a loud horn wailed with lights flashing around the giant mother ship. It then began to discharge canisters into the Los Angeles skyline.

“We got to get out of here!” Desmond grabbed Jasmine pulling her inside. He then slammed the glass door to the balcony shut. The young couple began throwing their things together in the threatening atmosphere of the new world order.

Not too many people knew that Desmond and Jasmine had actually prepared for this sort of thing. They loved watching The Walking Dead. It made them think about end of the world scenarios. They had backpacks ready to go. If they wanted additional items they would have to remember them, and put them inside empty pockets of the bags. Then down to the car, and out to their survivor bunker in the desert. The bunker could accommodate 24 people in complete luxury for one year. Their immediate family, and some friends in the greater Los Angeles area, knew about it as well. They were all to meet at the wind swept End of the World installation by Belmont Resorts. Some had purchased additional bunkers at the site as well.

Within five minutes they were both armed with a katana, a .45 holstered with ammunition, and a Streamlight Stinger flashlight. They had trained together, and would be a force against whatever anarchy sent their way.

They shouldered their backpacks and pushed out the front door. No need to panic. They would only have to use swords - if needed - from here down to the garage. They knew the neighbors wouldn’t hurt them unless they had turned to zombies.

No one in the hallway, and with the power out on the elevator, they would have to use the stairs all the way down. They opened the door to the stairwell, and could see the red emergency lights coiling the 67 floors of darkness to the garage. Being on the penthouse floor, no one would be coming down from above them. And as they moved down the stairs they continued to see no one. They attributed it to being prepared with a plan. Most of the people living in the building probably felt more comfortable staying in their condo.

As they got down to the 30th floor, they started to feel doors opening above and below them. Only they couldn’t hear anything over their own breathing with their eyes concentrating on the red lights illuminating the stairs, running for their lives.

A door slammed somewhere in the dark. Then a penetrating scream from all around them got their attention. “They’ve turned into the undead! One of them bit me! O please god!” and then the voice broke into sobs.

Desmond and Jasmine continued their flight downstairs in the emergency light to the parking garage below. Once they reached the bottom they stopped at the door to catch their breath. Wide eyed and looking all around. Deep breaths, trying to remain calm, while remaining aware of possible dangers all around them.

As the beating of blood slowed in their heads, silence began to fill the void, and they prepared for what they would have to do next.

“You OK Jasmine? We got to get to the car. Then out to the desert.”

“Yes, I’m fine. We can do this baby.”

“Good, I’m going to open the door to look into the garage, get your katana out just in case.”

Desmond put his hand on the door lever. He looked at Jasmine who stood in an attack stance. If a zombie tried to eat them on the other side of the door she would cut it in two. He opened the door a little to look outside. He could only see sunlight bouncing of cement walls. A little more, and they were good, they both began to run to their car.

The ambient sound around them of sirens, screams, shouts, people yelling, dogs barking, guns being shot, and above the chaos loud speakers asking people to stay inside.

As they turned the corner to get their car they saw their first undead. A familiar face from the elevator, a Japanese man once clean and smiling, now with mouth contorted and empty eyed. He raised his arms, and began to move toward them with a zombie groan. Jasmine cut his head in two. The animation of the deceased body ended just like on television.

The backpacks fit perfectly in the trunk of their canary yellow Lamborghini. Desmond got in the driver’s seat. Jasmine at the ready with her .45 sitting shotgun. He turned the key igniting the power of the V12 engine. He dreamed of a moment like this for years.

He put Starboy by The Weeknd on, slowly pulling out of the parking spot like a gangster. Keeping his cool, knowing that at any moment he might need to push this $500 thousand automobile to its limits. Dents didn’t matter now; getting to the desert, getting to the safety of their bunker, now the number one priority of his existence.

333

Desmond and Jasmine had been in the safety of their bunker for a month. The internet didn’t work on their bunker’s computer, or on their phones. The safety bunker had a generator to charge batteries, so they could keep essential items running on batteries for over a year. This included overhead lights and a functional kitchen. They had battery charged short wave radios, and scanned for communication. They had a CCTV camera feed from all the cameras at the facility. It looked as if other people were able to make it to the safety of their bunkers as well. However, still no sign of the others meant to live in this bunker with them.

Desmond and Jasmine tried not to think of each person individually that hadn’t made it to this place of safety. They thought of those people that were close to them as fighting it out, and helping others. When they got a chance they would reach this place, and give the secret knock, and the young couple would let them inside.

333

Not long after, Jasmine began turning everything off inside the bunker, until the two of them were alone in the living room. A lamp lighting a writing table where she’d placed some paper and pens. She handed a dictionary and thesaurus to Desmond.

“Here you go.” Jasmine said.

“What are these books for?” Desmond asked.

“I’m going to write our memoir, and you’re going to help me write it. I always need spell check and the thesaurus on Microsoft Word, so I’ll do the writing, and you look everything up.” She said.

“OK, why not use the computer?” He asked.

“We need to save energy, and live in this bunker for as long as possible. People can give the secret knock and we’ll answer the door. Besides, in the future, when our children get older it will be easier for them to read something that I’ve wrote. The computer might not even work then.” Jasmine said.

Thank you,
Cyrus Emerson

Red Roses the audiobook for your consideration at the Voice Arts Awards (NYC), and the Grammys (LA).
https://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Red-Roses-Audiobook/B07F2LWHPN

Red Roses narrated by Kira Omans
www.kiraomans.com

Red Roses music by Rike Luxx
www.rikeluxxbeats.com

Red Roses sound by Pond5
www.pond5.com

Also, available from The Author:

Fear and Loathing in the State of Jefferson - ebook
https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B079R5KLPN&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_GsURAbAVDYNEM

Lost Angel – Introduction with Ray Manzarek of The Doors
https://www.downpour.com/lost-angel?sp=249812