ALONE
September 5, 2010, 10:40AM
Washington Square Park, New York
I stood under the shade of a withered tree. Nondescript and grey, it was slumped to one side as if some invisible person perched on its topmost branches. All it's leaves were brown and sickly looking, all but one solitary stem which was a colour almost on the verge of green, supporting three bright yellow leaves.
I was standing in what remained of a park near the New York University. A stray dog - they were all strays these days - sniffed at a charred garbage can a few meters away from me. I was at half a mind to whistle at it, desperate for some company other than my own, and the resident voices in my head.
Previous experience, however, prevented me from doing so. Most of these dogs had rabies, the plague, a taste for human flesh, all three, who knew? There surely weren't any willing veterinarians around aching to cure all the strays, or any of the Animal Rescue Service eager to find them loving homes, either.
In fact, there were no loving homes for them to go to, even if such a patrol still cruised the streets of New York. No, I argued with myself, Not quite true; homes could be found anywhere and everywhere. There'd just be no loving owner inside to greet the pooch with open arms.
Not in this part of the city, anyway. In the country? The suburbs? Alaska? Maybe Alaska - far as I know, no one had thought to target Alaska. I mean, who would? The people there'd probably melt with the effort of a take over bid in a place a degree over 30 Fahrenheit.
The suburbs? Maybe. Maybe some lucky fucker's got himself one of those old bomb shelters. Maybe a whole neighbourhood is in it right now, crouched into corners, munching on cans of tuna and stale crackers, going steadily insane at the close confinements. Reading in the flickering candle light. Trying to fuck silently, in a tangle of towels and dog blankets, aware of the other people in the shelter, but going for broke heedless. Or maybe the guy even ain't that lucky. All he's got in that bunker is his brother. And his hand.
But I'm wandering again. Always wandering, never stopping, one of the four voices in my head reminded me in a clear and soft tone, Always wandering, never stopping.
I sighed and the dogs' ears swiveled at the sound. Mutant dog. Dogs ears don't swivel. The fallout must have affected a pregnant bitch, spawning unnatural pups. If that was the case, this mongrel could be young; never living in a populated world where humans reigned supreme, a dog untainted by the violence that had spread throughout the once flourishing city only a few months ago.
A few months ago? Heck, I know the date like I know the back of my hand. Know the days, hours, minutes and seconds to the tee. July 4th, 2010, 12:00 Midday; imprinted in my mind forever the day and the time the sky rained death upon New York City.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
July 4th, 2010, 11:55AM
Washington Square Park, New York
Like every patriotic American living in New York, and even those just visiting, were gathered at Washington Square, for the hot dog stands, ice-cream stalls and military airshow that Independence Day, I was seated with my family on a checkered picnic blanket under a shady tree.
Molly climbed onto my lap and I squeezed her to me, smelling the sweetness of her hair, never ceasing to be amazed that this freckle nosed little girl was mine. Leah, my wife, dressed to the nines to show of to any fellow workmates and any neighbours that happened to walk by, crept her hand into the back pocket of my jeans.
I smiled at her and said to our nine year old boy, "Timmy! Ready for those air planes?"
Timmy was red faced from running around like a lunatic with his best friend Cain. Cain retired to his own family's picnic spread, and sprawled out exhausted next to his mother who nodded at me.
Timmy hit the ground beside me and said, "Course. How many doya think there'll be?" He wiped his running nose with the back of his hand, and absently wiped the snot into the grass.
"Wave after wave."
"Millions?" Molly asked in her high pitched voice.
The background noise I had been hearing for a while surely grew sharper and I looked up to see black dots in the sky.
Leah glanced up, shading the sun from her eyes, "Looks like they're coming, kids!"
Molly and Timmy both peered into the sky, watching the planes fly closer.
"Wow dad, there's heaps, just like you said." Timmy's eyes were wide.
"Really?" Normally only seven or nine jets flew in a V formation over the square, and then came back. Heaps signified many, many meant more than ten. Why so many planes?
I squinted into the sky, everyone else in the park doing the same, watching the approaching jets fly closer. There were ten planes, spread out very wide. Glancing beyond them, I saw another set of ten, spaced to fill in the gaps of the fist lot. Behind that volley was another, and another. Each wave spaced out.
Feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise, I glanced at Leah. She was smiling in anticipation.
"Sonny, there must be at least forty jets out there! They're gonna give us a real show."
The roaring grew louder. Molly practically bounced in my lap. We craned our necks to see the jets. And that's when the first bomb was dropped.
----------------------
A/N: Story continued futher down. Instead of flooding the forum with parts of this story, I'll continue posting on this same thread. Hope that works for everyone 
