The Purple Cloud Project

By Adolfo E. Ramirez

On May 1st, the planet was attacked by a mysterious army. Their identity and their place of origin are still unknown. Their objective, however, is clear: annihilation!
Awakening from a three—month coma, Christopher Denmark finds a world in ruin and himself the sole survivor of the most disastrous military operation in American history.
With the world gone to hell and a government in tatters, Christopher must uncover the truth behind the enemy who tainted the sky purple and plunged the planet into darkness, while struggling to overcome his worst fears and inner monsters that have forced him to spill blood countless times. Christopher has always felt more like the villain, but now, his country is asking him to be the hero.
Get ready to be plunged into the thrilling unknown as you join The Purple Cloud Project.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sands Press
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781988281001

Book preview

Dad

PROLOGUE

A Beautiful Day in May

The lucent rays of the sun peeked through the blinds, illuminating the room with feelings of aspiration. A new day always feels like new hope. A slight breeze through a cracked window made the white curtains twirl with a delicate grace, as if they were dancing on air. Even the shadows that lurked in the room, with their ominous reputation, did their part to add to the tranquil setting.

Skyler Richardson lay on what had to be the most comfortable bed in the world, a comfort he wished his own bed provided. He heard a plane as it flew by, mere thousands of feet in the air. Being so close to LAX, it was a sound one heard frequently. The TV was on, but it only acted as background noise. Mickey T. Storm from Channel 11 News was going over the weekend’s weather. Forecast looking mighty fucking good, Skyler thought to himself, with an animated smile. Not that it mattered; the mother of all storms could’ve been hovering outside his doorstep and it wouldn’t have been enough to dampen his mood.

He sat up and looked to his right. She lay there, naked, with just the right amount of sunlight touching her body. The glow that radiated from her caramel skin made her resemble what he believed to be the most beautiful angel, sleeping on a cloud without a single care. It was like God was displaying his greatest creation for only him to see. He didn’t want to get up, but time was ticking and there were things to do. He rose from the delicious comfort of the bed, as naked as the day he was born, and scanned the floor in an attempt to find his clothes. His movements made her stir. Despite his efforts not to wake her, her eyes fluttered gently, like the wings of a butterfly. She gave him the smile that only she could give him–the one that always made his heart melt.

Where are you going? she asked in a voice still filled with sleep.

Go back to sleep, Wendy. I gotta get moving. I wish I could stay, but I’ve already stayed too long.

Noooo! she purred. She yawned and stretched at the same time. Come back to bed, she said, her arms extended enticingly. Her invitation wasn’t meant to inspire sleep. He knew that; it was one of the things he loved about her.

From the very first moment he laid eyes on her, he had to have her. She had long, jet-black hair, worn loose and messy with big curls that seemed to fall just right. Her big brown eyes were like two forbidden jewels, not meant to be looked upon by the likes of man. They sparkled with life, and possessed the unique ability to seem like they were always smiling. In his twenty-eight years, he had never laid eyes on a face so beautiful.

He wasn’t going to waste another second wondering how the hell he got so lucky as he gazed at her round, ripe breast. She bit her bottom lip, and that was all the motivation he needed to hop back into bed. He kissed her softly, slightly teasing her, having more confidence now than he had the first time their lips met. She kissed back, with more desperation and a sense of urgency, like a girl who can’t wait to unwrap her presents. He moved to her neck, working his way down, while his hands gripped her perky breasts firmly but gently. Her nipples stiffened inside his mouth. That was another thing he loved about her: it didn’t take much to get her juices flowing. Foreplay was important, but she knew there wasn’t much time to waste. With her free hand she guided him inside her, where she was already deliciously wet, allowing him to slide right in. She let out a weak moan that grew louder the deeper he went. Her nails clawed at his back, allowing him the bittersweet pain that only made him go harder.

Right there, she whispered. If only she knew how much her sweet voice excited him in intimate moments like this! It had been years since he’d been with a woman who wasn’t afraid to be vocal in bed. It didn’t matter how deep he went; she didn’t complain or protest, or ask him to slow down. Her hands were on his lower back, pulling him in as far as he could go, a talent he knew could only come with practise. He didn’t care; she was his now. The past could stay where it belonged, and that was in the past. His breathing became heavy, along with hers. A thin layer of sweat was building on the surface of her body. He could taste her salty sweetness each time his tongue traced her skin.

Faster! she begged, her voice a whisper. So faster he went. He didn’t want to disappoint his wicked angel. She wrapped her legs around him as he drove inside her more aggressively now, his sensation climbing higher and the moment of climax growing nearer. Her skin was soft, as if it were made of silk. Her tits bounced with every thrust. She arched her back and started to scream for God, heightening the moment’s intensity. He could no longer hold back; recklessly he found the explosive release, with every thrust grunting like a barbarian. He didn’t care if she got pregnant; he wanted her forever. When it was all done, he laid his head on her chest. Her heart beat a beautiful symphony to his ears.

Wendy giggled and kissed the top of his head as the TV news blared the final scores of last night’s basketball games.

I thought you had to get going? she said in a mocking tone. Looks like you came instead.

You have ways of being persuasive. How can I say no to that goddess body of yours?

Oh please, Sky, I barely did anything and you were as hard as a rocket, she laughed, and ran her fingers up and down his back with a silky touch, forcing the goose bumps on his body to reveal themselves. You wanted me just as bad as I wanted you, she said with those smiling eyes of hers.

He lifted his head, kissed her soft lips, and got up. He made another attempt to find his clothes and spotted his shirt.

You’re the only one who can make me lose control like that. You know that, right? he said, while sticking an arm through one of the sleeves.

She sighed. I bet you say that to all the girls. You can stop trying to win me over, Skyler Richardson. We’ve already fucked about a billion times. You don’t have to try so hard to get my legs open anymore. She had that smile on her face again. He struggled to summon every bit of discipline he had so as not to jump in the bed and have his way with her once more. She would be willing, too. She can go all night if she wants to. He finished buttoning his shirt and reached for his pants. He glanced at her in time to see her smile fade, and be replaced with a troubled expression. She looked lost in thought.

What is it, baby? he asked as he scouted the floor for his shoes. You know I can tell when something is bothering my little angel. So, save me the trouble of having to beg.

When are you planning on telling her? Wendy rubbed her arms and looked almost ashamed to ask.

I wish she were here so I could tell her now. He grabbed his socks and shoes and sat on the edge of the bed. Tonight, I promise.

She gave him a weak smile. Look, Sky. I know it’s only been two weeks... Two magical weeks. ...and I’m not really sure where this is going. But... if I do catch feelings for you, I wouldn’t want you changing your mind once it’s too late. I don’t want to be the one stuck with the mess a broken heart tends to leave behind.

He tied his shoelaces and stood up. Was that your own unique way of telling me that you don’t trust me? I did say I promise. He toyed with her as he reached for his wallet and watch on the nightstand. And in my opinion, trust is the biggest and only foundation you need to build yourself a pretty little house of love. He could see her smiling that million-dollar smile out of the corner of his eye as he reached for his cellphone. That’s what I want to see, baby. So when a relationship loses trust, it loses its foundation, allowing the tiny fragile house to collapse on itself, trapping the two little love birds inside, and leaving them no choice but to suffer a long time of misery. Two fools in love stuck underneath a rubble of broken hearts. He grabbed his sunglasses and put them on, then scooped up his cigarettes and lit one.

I’m not trying to get stuck underneath any rubble anytime soon, she said playfully. Especially not with you.

He laughed. She always makes me laugh. He reached for his badge and grabbed it by the chain, which he slung around his neck.

I won’t break a promise. A broken promise is a grenade that can blow a foundation to dust. He grabbed his gun and took the clip out of the Glock 9 to make sure it was loaded. He was suddenly aware of Becky Fox’s voice on the TV reporting breaking news:

THE LAPD IS GETTING READY TO ENTER THE HOUSE YOU SEE BEHIND ME, WHERE THEY BELIEVE A MOTHER AND FATHER LIE DEAD. THE ALLEGED KILLER PHONED 9-1-1 AND IS BELIEVED TO BE INSIDE. WE’RE GETTING REPORTS THAT THE MOTHER MIGHT’VE BEEN STRANGLED; THE FATHER, SHOT POINT BLANK IN THE HEAD. WE’RE NOT SURE IF THE KILLER HAS MORE PEOPLE IN…

As a homicide detective, Skyler was reminded every day how cruel the world was becoming. He made his way towards the door, and as he opened it she called out, Skyler! stopping him in his tracks. Keeping his back to her, he took a drag from his cigarette and waited. Do me a favour, she said.

Anything for you, baby.

Promise me that tonight you’ll tell your wife. And when you’re through… I want to see you before morning, so we can fuck while the sun rises.

He turned slightly to look at her, smiling. Under one condition, he said.

Name it.

He took another pull of his cigarette and exhaled the foul, poisonous smoke.

Promise me that you’ll tell your husband tonight as well.

She sat up on the bed. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die. Her luscious breasts bounced as she made the sign of the cross over her heart, and he almost jumped on her again.

Then, I promise, too. I’ll see you tonight, beautiful. He slid the gun into his shoulder holster and walked out the door.

When he got into his car he noticed that his phone had twenty-eight missed calls, every one of them from his partner, Bruce Hart. He flicked his cigarette out the window, and watched it fly and leave a trail of amber sparks before it landed on the sidewalk. He speed-dialled Bruce, placed the phone on the charging dock, turned the key in the ignition, and drove away. But not before taking another look at the house where his love would await his return. I’d give anything to spend another hour with her.

The speakerphone erupted. Dude, where the fuck have you been? Bruce always popped a vein if he wasn’t in control of every situation. The fact that he couldn’t get Skyler on the phone when he wanted to must’ve been driving the poor, crazy guy nuts.

I was with Wendy, asshole. What do you want?

The man is cheating on his wife, and I’m the asshole? You’re fucking sick. You two make me sick. You’re both married, Skyler. Stop doing that shit to Vivian or leave her already.

Yeah, yeah. What do you want, man? He made a right turn on Broad Street.

We got two bodies over here.

I know, I heard about it on the news. What’s it looking like? Skyler drove onto the highway entrance ramp; as soon as he got to the end of it he encountered a sea of red brake lights staring back at him. Fucking LA traffic.

It’s a double homicide, bro. It looks like the kid did it.

Skyler’s car was making excruciatingly slow progress down the highway. It was the kind of jam he liked to call, You’re not going anywhere, bitch.

Skyler sighed. In this day and age, Brucie boy, nothing surprises me anymore.

Well listen, you need to get—

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light outside that brought a stinging pain to Skyler’s eyes, forcing them shut. The phone made a crackling sound and then went silent. Skyler rubbed his eyes in an effort to remove some of the blurriness, but it wasn’t doing much good. With one eye open, he tried pressing the Power On button on his phone, but all he got was a dark screen. The phone was dead, but that’s not what most alarmed him. It was when he looked up at the highway that he became concerned; the endless sea of red brake lights was gone, replaced by a disconcerting stillness. Buses, vans, motorcycles—every vehicle around him—had simultaneously shut down, and everything had stopped moving. That’s when he noticed that his own vehicle had stalled out as well. On both sides of the highway, everything on wheels came to an abrupt halt. What the hell?

Slowly, people began emerging from their cars, and Skyler got out of his. Everyone looked to each other for answers; faces were frozen with bewilderment, hoping someone had a solution to this bizarre and unexpected mess. His own eyes were playing tricks on him. They were seeing colours he wasn’t supposed to see. He tried remembering whether or not he had bumped his head during the process, because he felt as though something was a little off. The crowd that was gathering on the highway began to grumble. My phone doesn’t work! he heard a guy scream out.

Skyler removed his sunglasses and placed his hands on the roof of his car, suddenly feeling a little lightheaded and overwhelmed, as if he was hallucinating. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, attempting to control the sudden rush of anxiety he felt, and desperately trying to maintain his composure.

Why does the sky look like that?! he heard a lady shout. He slowly looked up and realized that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. I am seeing strange colours! The sky seemed almost... purple. The once blue sky now had a hint of lavender. Even the cumulus clouds that were floating by were of the same shade. Something’s wrong.

As that thought rattled in his head, he heard the sudden sounds of commotion coming from afar, then realized that a wave of frantic people were running in his direction, some of them screaming in terror. The other people near him who had gotten out of their cars saw what he saw and looked to each other, as if trying to decide whether or not they should run as well. That’s when, out of the purple cloud, he saw a plane emerge, flying inexplicably without any sound and dangerously low, and coming straight for the highway.

Holy shit!! Without thinking, Skyler turned and made a run for it. By now everyone had seen the danger they were in, and began their desperate attempts to escape. The highway was ringing with shrieks of panic, the lanes between the cars choked with people frantically trying to flee; mobs of people were stumbling, trampling each other, as all rules of society seem so easily to be tossed out the window when Death comes knocking. Skyler had to bully his way past some of the slower runners, and at times, without intending to, he knocked a few of them to the ground, leaving them to be swallowed under by the angry stampede. He didn’t care at the moment; there wasn’t time. He ran madly, blinded by fear and driven by the primal will to survive.

An explosion went off behind him, rattling the insides of his brain. He looked back and immediately regretted it as he watched the plane slam into the ground and burst into an apocalyptic ball of fire as it smashed into the rows of cars trapped on the highway. It looked as if the very gates of Hell had opened up to unleash death on the damned.

Momentum carried the plane forward, plowing through cars and the fleeing people like a boulder rolling through a bed of flowers. Cars were tossed around as if they were made out of cardboard. People were caught in the blazing inferno that came ripping out of the plane, instantly disintegrating their bodies into grains of flying charred dust. Vehicles caught fire, setting off a chain reaction of explosions that only added to the carnage. Skyler thought he heard the actual crunch of bones as a car landed on some guys that were running only a few steps away from him. Both barrels of the highway streamed with nothing but running humanity, exploding vehicles, and fire; the sounds of terror and horror at every corner, in every direction.

Skyler headed towards the on-ramp, sprinting as fast as he could. The congestion of cars and the dense crowd in front of him were not making things easy. He climbed onto one of the vehicles and started hopping from car to car. He could feel the heat licking at the back of his neck, forcing him to pick up his speed. Destruction was everywhere and coming so fast that he felt the boney fingers of Death grabbing at his heels. Fear of dying does something strange to a person; it either paralyzes you in surrender or gives you access to a hidden well of strength you never knew you had. Somehow, Skyler was feeling that strength now, and using it to run even faster. He saw that the on-ramp he had driven on moments earlier was near, but yet still it was too far. I‘m not gonna make it!

The dreadful sounds of the plane ripping apart and grinding along the highway concrete were getting closer. Skyler jumped over the ramp as another explosion barely missed him. Without looking, he scaled the guardrail on the side of the highway and leaped, dropping eight feet to the ground. When he landed, the force drove him to fall and roll. The pain was nothing compared to the joy of being alive. Above him, up on the highway, he heard the plane slowly screech to a stop, but the screams of terror and agony continued without letting up, lingering in the air.

Trying to catch his breath, Skyler rolled onto his back just in time to see another poor fool leap from the highway, covered in flames. He had to roll out of the way just to avoid being landed on. The flaming body hit the ground hard, and only then could he make out that it was a woman. She let out a bone-chilling scream that terrified Skyler. He used his hands to try to put the flames out, and shortly they were wailing with pain in his effort to save her. It wasn’t working. He smelled the combination of jet fuel and burning hair and skin, and it made him feel nauseous. The flames were melting her face. He watched as her skin bubbled and slid off, revealing the white bones underneath, which quickly charred as the flames consumed them, too. He swallowed down a surge of vomit attempting to escape. The sight of her skull made him panic. Without knowing what else to do, he got up and ran, leaving the woman behind, screaming helplessly as the fire cooked her to death.

As he ran he could only think of his beautiful Wendy. I need to get to her. Skyler estimated he was about three miles from her house, give or take. The thought made him run harder. His heart was on the verge of exploding, but he resolved at that moment that only death would stop him from reaching her.

The streets were filled with terrified people as they poured out of their homes and businesses and looked up at the angry purple sky. Some of the onlookers ran towards the burning highway to try to render assistance, only to be caught up in the holocaust themselves. Skyler dashed and weaved through the milling bystanders and vehicles as best he could, shoving his way against the tide of people that moved towards the conflagration on the highway like moths to a flame. You’re going the wrong way, he thought, but there was no use trying to explain.

The traffic lights were out; so were all the business signs. The digital billboards that ran those electronic multiple ads were also now blank. There isn’t any power anywhere, he finally deduced. Shit is all fucked up. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was Wendy. I just need to get to her.

Skyler heard another sound that was strangely familiar, but he couldn’t quite identify it, as it seemed somehow too far off. Maybe his mind was too busy trying not to pass out from exhaustion to think clearly. But then, as the panic erupting from the crowd grew to a crescendo, he suddenly realized the horror of what he was hearing. It was another plane falling from the sky, and the familiar whining sound was the last revolutions of the weakly spinning turbines struggling just before the massive jetliner crashed into the earth.

He didn’t want to look. He was too afraid that he wasn’t going to be able to outrun the explosion that was certain to come. His legs were already giving out and his lungs were ready to burst. He was terrified.

Suddenly, a bright flash of hot, flaming light lit up the sky, followed immediately by a gigantic Boom! And before he could scream, his feet were off the ground and he was flying.

Skyler didn’t know how long he was out for. When he opened his eyes, everything was silent except for a constant ringing in his ears. He was lying on his stomach, and a mob of frightened people was running all around him. They didn’t bother to help, but just ran over him, stepping on his hands and back and legs and neck. One little boy tripped over him and fell right in front of his face. Skyler struggled to get up. Feeling woozy and still deafened by the explosion, he attempted to use his wobbly legs. When he got to his knees, a lady ran into him, knocking the wind out of him and forcing them both to the ground. His head hit the concrete and he felt warm blood ooze into his eyes. He felt another set of feet step on his ribs. Another on his legs. More on his neck and face. I’m gonna get trampled if I don’t get up!

In utter desperation, and believing he had no other choice, he reached for his gun. With one eye filled with blood, he aimed at the purple sky with a trembling hand and fired off a round.

BANG!

It felt like someone had flicked warm water onto his face, causing him to flinch, but he had no idea where it could have come from. The ringing in his ears persisted: a high-pitched frequency stabbing his brain and not allowing him to hear anything else. With the report of the Glock, however, the crowd separated. He was slow to get up, aching like he had suddenly aged fifty years. He turned around and saw a man on the ground, holding his neck while dark blood gushed through his fingers. Another guy was standing over the bleeding man and seemed to be yelling at Skyler, but he was still temporarily deaf and couldn’t make out what the guy was saying, nor could he understand why he looked so angry with Skyler.

What?! Skyler shouted. The angry man yelled something, pointed at the dying man, and then rushed at him. Skyler didn’t understand what was going on, but his body moved on its own with reflexive quickness. He raised his gun and shot his attacker, putting three bullets in his chest. The man dropped with a lifeless thump, or so Skyler imagined, since he still couldn’t hear a thing. The holes in the man’s chest began forming bright red blossoms on his stained shirt.

Nervously, Skyler raised his gun and spun around quickly, to ward off any more attackers that might be coming at him. His hearing was slowly returning to him as the outcry of terror resumed in his ears. Mistrusting eyes were all on him, but people backed away cautiously just the same. A gun does that to people; it turns peasants into kings, and heroes into cowards, depending on which side of the gun you’re standing on. It was then that Skyler realized what he had done, and why the man had been so angry with him. He looked down at the two men he had just shot, and then ran. There was no hint of remorse in him, just relief that it was not his body staining the pavement red. It was a matter of survival.

As he ran down the street, he couldn’t believe the insanely pure chaos he was seeing, like a nightmare come to life. Houses were on fire, and bodies were splattered all over the ground like on the Civil War battlefields he had seen in history books as a kid. In the far distance, he saw another plane going down, but luckily that one was far enough away to have no effect on him. Wherever it would crash, panic, death, and destruction were sure to follow.

He was still about a half a mile away, but could see Wendy’s house. The sight of houses on fire around him made him dig deep and run as hard as he could as the last ounces of strength drained from him. He knew he didn’t have much time, so he made a quick plan. He would run into the house, pack some food and water, grab ahold of his girl, and then the two of them would run and find a place to wait this out. If I know Wendy, she knows I’ll be coming for her and will be ready to go.

He made it to her door and busted right through it. On the floor just inside he saw packed bags. Smart girl. He made his way towards her room.

Baby, we got to get the fuck out of—

A shadowy figure stood by the bed, facing downward, casting a gloomy shadow in the brightly lit room. There was only the sound of explosions going off in the distance; the bedlam unfolding outside was eerily muffled by the walls of the house.

Skyler’s eyes went to the ground, where he saw his goddess lying dead amid crystal shards of broken glass everywhere. Her neck was sliced open. The floor was a dark pool and her clothes were drowning in red. The figure stood there with the knife in hand. A constant drip of blood was falling off the blade, repeatedly hitting the same spot on the floor.

She told me she was fucking you for two weeks, said the figure. She told me she was leaving me. This slut played me for a fool.

Skyler heard him talking, but his eyes remained fixed on the lifeless body of his angel. Even dead, she was a beauty to marvel upon. His eyes were filled with a mixture of blood and tears. His anger reached a point that caused everything around him to fade into silence.

Skyler snapped. He let out a barbaric yell and rushed towards Wendy’s killer. They both fell to the floor, causing a splash in the river of her blood. Skyler was on top of him with both hands around his neck, squeezing violently with a monstrous rage. His strength was fuelled by hatred. He gave another yell and squeezed tighter. Tears mixed with blood, spit, and sweat fell onto the face of the man who had robbed him of his love. Skyler looked into his eyes. He was praying that God would be good enough to give him the satisfaction of seeing one of them pop before he finally killed him.

The man struggled, reaching to put two bloody hands around Skyler’s neck, but it was too late. His arms fell simultaneously in lazy, hovering motions, and Skyler knew he was dead. He tightened his grip even more until there was pain in his own fingers, just to be sure he had squeezed every trace of life out of Wendy’s murderer. And then he rolled heavily off the corpse.

He grabbed Wendy’s lifeless body and brought her close to him. He held and squeezed her, and cried long and hard. He cursed God and begged for an answer. Why? But all he got was the disappointment of silence; God’s favourite way to reply. I need to get her off the floor. Skyler went to stand up and then quickly dropped back down. That’s when he noticed the knife stuck in his stomach. Blood filled his mouth. He tried again to stand, but the outcome was the same. He was confused. When did this happen? He became so exhausted, he almost didn’t care—didn’t have enough energy left to care. He took another look at his goddess. Guess I’ll be seeing you soon. He collapsed. Outside, another plane could be heard falling from the sky. Being so close to the LAX airport, it was a sound one heard frequently.

CHAPTER 1

La Vera Del Coro

Not a single word. Just wandering eyes fixating for brief moments on different objects around the helicopter, then wandering off again. Sixty marines tuned off to their surroundings, while going through a million thoughts per second in their heads. Some praying, some thinking of their families; chances were that some were just reminiscing about the last piece of ass they had. All preparing themselves to kill… or die. Or even both. No matter what was going through their heads at the time, not a word was spoken. The silence of fear.

Joseph, like the rest of them, sat quietly while his eyes remained busy. He glanced at a blown out light bulb right above him that was supposed to turn on if shit hit the fan. Directly in front of him was a sign that read: PRESS ONLY IN EMERGENCIES, and underneath it was that prototypical red button. I wonder what happens if you were to press that fucker. He also spotted some kind of brownish stain on the corner of the mouth of one of the younger men. Joseph guessed it was dried-up sauce from their last meal eaten before they hopped on this old-ass tin can. They fed them like kings: twenty-ounce T-bone steaks dripping with butter and garlic sauce, baked potatoes drowning in melted cheese with bacon bits and scallions, along with mountains of penne pasta floating in a river of aromatic vodka sauce. There was toasted garlic bread, crispy honey baked ham, shrimp scampi, lobster tails splashed with lemon-butter, and enough sweets to keep you up for three days. The perfect last meal. Joseph mused that it was like what they did in the movies with the inmates on death row: in the morning, give them a meal they'll remember for life, and then fry them in the afternoon before they’d even had time to digest it.

A feeling came to Joseph at that moment. He had had it once before, a very long time ago. It wasn't fear. He had lost his fear of dying long ago. It was the poisonous kiss of curiosity. He knew this feeling already… and knew it to be intoxicating. It could drive certain people mad, and sometimes even make a man's body act of its own will. Nevertheless, that same toxic curiosity was boiling inside of him, and he could barely contain himself.

We are fighting the unknown, and I'm loving every second of it, Joseph thought to himself with a little smirk on his face. To tell the truth, there wasn't a single person on this helicopter who knew anything about what they were about to face. Not even the government of the mighty United States of fucking America had a clue as to who the enemy was or what they were about.

And we all know how much our government hates being in the dark.

The moment the planes started falling, the terrorists were the first to be blamed. But it wasn't your typical terrorist attack; didn’t take a Harvard degree to figure that out. Something was different about it, and everyone could feel it. There was something else happening that wasn't so easy or convenient to explain away.

What happened to the TV, Jay? he remembered his roommate, Aldridge, asking him that day the world plunged head first into Hell. He was lying on the couch back at their base, trying to tame a pounding headache courtesy of a night spent throwing back shots of Jack Daniels and chasing them with beer.

Did you try turning it on? he had replied while rubbing his temples.

I'm not fucking stupid.

He also remembered suddenly hearing an abnormal silence that swept through their living quarters. That’s when he heard Al open the door to outside and say, Jay, come take a look at this shit! There was great excitement in his voice for a guy who didn’t get riled easily. But before Joseph could take a single step towards the door, an explosion sent him flying from the couch and across the room to the kitchen as a helicopter crashed into the barracks, killing Aldridge in the doorway and some other soldiers just outside. Soldiers who he would later learn were watching the anomaly of the purple sky. When Joseph woke up, not only was his roommate dead; so, too, was the world he once knew.

That day, the sky turned a weird shade of purple, and after that, the world seemed to have lost everything, including logical sense. All electrical and digital devices stopped working. Major cities were in complete darkness around the entire globe. Anything with power was shut down. No computers, phones, or satellites were functioning. Transportation stopped. Cars shut off. Trains, subways, boats, and any other means of travel all ceased, twenty-eight days ago, on May Day. That’s what they were aptly calling it: May Day.

However, it was ultimately the planes that fell from the sky that turned a beautiful day into a major worldwide cataclysmic event. At peak hour, there were about six thousand planes flying over North America alone, and thousands more over Europe, Asia, Australia, and South America. On May Day, all the planes in the sky fell simultaneously, turning each plane into a horrifying and explosive dagger of death. Doesn’t sound fair, does it now? Joseph had heard stories of how planes bulldozed through crowds of people fleeing down the canyons of New York City and the wide open boulevards of L.A., and in every city in between.

President William Kelly was a casualty of that day. Air Force One was believed to have been flying somewhere over Colorado before it went down. No one had heard from him or his party since.

We weren't hit with an electromagnetic pulse. This is something completely different, Major Goldstein had told the troops some three weeks after the event. Our guys are starting to figure out ways to get our land vehicles back on track. Cheers from the men around him erupted. They were nervous cheers at best.

Now we can take the fight to them! yelled a guy they called T-Rod, and another round of cheers erupted, more enthusiastic this time.

Major Goldstein raised one hand up, asking for silence, and he got it. Let's not get too excited, boys. We still have a lot of shit on our plate. Our tech guys can't figure out how to get our planes back in the air. We tested a few, but once airborne, they dropped like a sack of bricks.

Major Goldstein was one of the greatest men Joseph believed he would ever come to know. If anyone was going to lead them through the darkness, he was the right man for the job. That was, until the next day, when Major was shipped to New York on orders. Joseph hadn't seen him since. Chances are I'll never see him again.

However, he had continued at the time, "we managed to keep some of our older helicopters in the air, without making a mess of things. Same thing with some of our older equipment: radios and such. The tech boys are baffled at why some stuff works and some stuff doesn’t. They think it has something to do with the digital electronics, or transistors, or some such shit. But they can’t figure it out.

And that’s not all. We’ve also learned that to keep these choppers in the air, we can only fly at low altitudes. They haven’t figured out that one either.

Joseph had heard rumors that some helicopters were still experiencing power failures. The risks were clearly there, but when was there ever a battle without risks to victory?

For now, the helicopter he was currently travelling in was doing a great job in the not-crashing department, so that was a good start. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his M16 leaning beside his leg at attention, like a good, solid guard dog. The helicopter seemed to be flying so close to the ocean that if he were to reach out, he could touch the water with his fingertips.

Joseph was becoming impatient. His thoughts and memories were the only things keeping him company. He remembered the excitement—and terror—that May Day had brought. That adrenaline-fuelled feeling you get when you don't know if you're going to live or die. He also remembered the pure chaos that followed immediately afterward.

Panic swept the country with the force of a tidal wave, leaving people disorientated and drowning in despair. Streets were filled with hysterically screaming people wailing pleas for help. Inmates escaped from prisons, setting killers and rapists out free in the public. Total pandemonium. It was exactly how the movies imagined it would be, except that it was all too real.

Tragically, people did what they do best when they panic: they turned on each other, looting stores and businesses, breaking into homes, and maiming and murdering one another. Good citizens who had been neighbours for years were killing each other over batteries and food and water supplies. Some of the survivalist types, once scoffed at as paranoid lunatics, were the lucky ones able to hole up in their doomsday bunkers stocked with provisions and weapons with their families. They sealed the doors from the inside, ready to lock themselves up in their own little enclosed worlds forever, if need be. Those who didn't have bunkers were stuck in Hell on Earth. With all the fires that spread across the nation, Hell was the perfect name for the setting. Cities and towns were set ablaze. Churches, schools, and homes were all engulfed in vicious fires, the raging flames soaring so high that night seemed to turn to day. People's futures, dreams, and hopes were incinerated overnight. But instead of banding together against a common enemy, they chose to fall apart in chaotic anarchy. When the shit hits the fan, it’s every man for himself. Everyone tries not to be the one who gets shitted on, but in the end, everybody does!

The government did not waste any time in sending the military out to all corners of the country to restore order. Millions died in the process. Joseph himself was forced to shoot civilians who would not listen to reason, including two teenage brothers who tried to take his gun from him. One hit him in the head with a rock, sending Joseph reeling back. He shot them both and left them for the dogs. It's better them than me, was all he could think after the incident.

The last report he heard before he hopped on the helicopter was that the mobs were beginning to subside and more camps were being set up for survivors. But how long will that last? A raging dragon can only sleep for so long. It was going to take months, perhaps years, to restore some sort of normality, but at least the ball was beginning to roll.

But how could a world go back to being normal when it was shrouded in complete darkness? Nuclear reactors looked as if they had never been turned on. It was as though whatever had sucked the energy from transportation equipment and electrical grids had also sucked the power plants clean, with the same devastating results. Nuclear missiles were somehow disarmed and useless, and high-level security was breached so that even the most sophisticated warheads were compromised and disabled. It’s like they knew exactly where to hit us so we can’t get back up. An enemy who can do that is a scary one.

Government intelligence could not put their heads together to figure out exactly how that had happened. They had also managed to wipe out launch codes, prohibiting the U.S. from launching any nuclear attacks. When the brains got together to figure out which nation had the capability to pull that off, they came up with nothing. All military technology had been shut off with what seemed to be a push of a button. And just like that, the world was thrust back into the Stone Age. Okay, maybe not that far back. We still have our Humvees and choppers. The only problem with that was the amount of fuel these heavy vehicles used up, given the fact that all oil production had ceased until further notice. It wouldn’t be long before America’s oil and gasoline reserves were completely depleted.

So, of course, the new president thought it was a great idea to declare every civilian vehicle on the road illegal. Private vehicles could only be used for military purposes, and anyone caught driving a car would be taken down and arrested with whatever force was necessary. All available gasoline, including the measly few gallons that remained in the tank of every car and truck across the country, was reserved for the military. That decision gave birth to what everyone started to call the Gas Maids: military units that went around syphoning gas from abandoned vehicles. The perfect job for fuck-ups and new recruits.

Joseph grabbed his canteen and drank deeply, the water providing much needed refreshment. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and continued to let his mind run free. The tension around him made the air feel heavy. The windows that surrounded the Boeing CH-47 lit the cabin with the same purple light that bounced off the clouds. It gave the place an eerie, surreal feeling, which he did not like very much. Pasted to the ceiling of the cabin was an American flag with the signatures of every marine on board. There were two rows of seats facing each other. Sixty armed marines sat face to face in a tight squeeze, all of them eager to reach the beaches of Venezuela. A flying hearse filled with living corpses, who haven't figured out they're dead yet.

Joseph realized that his attitude had become a shitty one lately. He’d been around the block a few times, enough to know that he was part of the front line, and the front line didn’t have a very high survival rate. The media liked to call them Heroes; a title usually given to corpses and preceded by the word Fallen.