Chapter 1
Because of the dense smoke, he could no longer see the end of the bridge.
It crept across the asphalt in long, billowing clouds, swallowing everything in its path.
When he tried to draw a breath (having held it out of bewilderment) it burned all the way down his throat. He broke into a violent cough, throwing an arm over his face and squinting as flakes of ash clung to his skin.
And all of a sudden, a thunderous boom shattered the silence, and the shockwave hit him from the side.
The sky ignited into a orange glare, followed by a second explosion that tore it apart. For the first time, he made out the remains of distant buildings and the silhouettes of helicopters circling above the city like vultures.
His eyes darted his immediate surroundings.
Nothing. No one.
He pulled out his phone, trying to capture the blast that had just died down.
Click.
And when he looked closer at the screen, his breath hitched.
Then his blood ran cold.
A silhouette stood motionless in the smoke.
He couldn’t tell if it was human, or just a shadow. It stood still. So did he. Yet his heart had begun to hammer faster. Then, the silhouette started to draw closer.
One step.
Then another.
His pulse raced faster than ever. He tried to move his legs, unable to tear his eyes away from the apparition drawing closer and closer.
Then he dropped his phone and sprinted away without looking back. His breathing grew ragged. Behind him the noise was closing in. He couldn’t tell if it was footsteps or engines, because the thunder of his own heart echoed like war drums in his ear as panic took over.
Still, he didn’t dare look back.
And the bridge would not end.
Because of the dense smoke, he could not longer see the end of the it.
And a cold shiver ran down his spine when he realized he wasn’t running towards his escape anymore. He was just trying to outrun whatever was hunting him.
Then a hand grabbed his.
Then he bolted upright, the mattress creaking under his weight.
Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead, and his shirt was soaked through with cold sweat.
He stared ahead, eyes wide and frozen, taking short, rapid breaths as though he had just wrenched himself free from a vice. His heart hammered with violent thuds against his breastbone.
His eyes moved toward the (closed) bedroom door lit by the morning’s orange light.
Then towards the window.
Nothing. No one.
He let out a long breath. Only then did he notice his other hand was clenched against his chest. He uncurled his fingers and stared at his wrist.
The pressure that has clamped around him just a second ago still lingered there. He rubbed the spot with his thumb, then sat staring into nothingness.
A helicopter’s distant thrum broke the silence. So did the cars.
Then, his gaze dropped to the floor.
The phone lay face down on the wooden floor. Reaching out, he picked it up. The screen was cracked.
Then he let himself fall back onto the bed.
God, what kind of dream was that.
He glanced down at his wrist once more.
The sensation hadn’t quite faded.
