Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
My stomach grumbles. I abandon the video to check on my food. Closer to my building but not quite here yet.
“Earthquakes happen all the time,” one of the reporters on the TV says, “and unfortunately, sometimes the damages are significant. We strongly urge you not to panic. Let the first responders do their jobs. To be safe, remain indoors.”
Thud.
Jerking my head toward the windows, I frown when I don’t see anything. Is the wind picking up already enough to send debris flying around up here?
Thud.
Not debris. A bird. Another one. This one leaves a bloody smear behind.
“What the hell?” I mutter.
Thud.
Thud, thud, thud.
Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.
One after the other, birds of different sizes and shapes slam into my windows.
And then silence.
My ears start to ring and then an uncomfortable pressure builds in the canals. I open my mouth and move my jaw in an attempt to get my ears to pop. A sharp pain flares behind my eyes like the beginnings of a severe sinus-induced migraine.
“Frannie,” I call out, pinching the bridge of my nose.
She bustles into my office, holding her palms over her ears. “Do you feel that?”
“Storm is rolling in,” I say, motioning for the bloody windows. “Probably pressure from that. I just had a dozen or so birds hit my windows.”
Her round cheeks that are always rosy with too much blush pale at my words. “Ron called a bit ago and told me to come home. He’s worrying over nothing, right, Kellen?”
“Of course,” I say quickly, though I don’t fully believe my words. “It’s just a storm and will blow over.”
“What about Seattle?”
“Earthquakes happen all the time,” I say, parroting the news report from earlier. “It’s unfortunate but not uncommon.”
She nods but doesn’t lose the frown. “There’s also talk of an imminent volcanic eruption up in Yellowstone. If it goes, that’s going to be horrible for those people.”
“Everything will be fine. Don’t get caught up in the news stories. They’re known for connecting anything they can to the asteroid of ’73.”
“Don’t worry, hon, I’m not going to turn into a moon maniac.” She chuckles, though it sounds forced. “I told Ron with the expected winds we’re to be receiving, it’s probably safer for me to stay at work than to be out in it. Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.”
I’m agreeing for purely selfish reasons. I wouldn’t be able to handle losing Frannie getting run over by some overly excited moonie. I can almost bet the shoes on my feet that Ron would find the sense in that argument.
“You’re not looking so hot,” Frannie says, walking over to me, eyes crinkled in concern. “Did you eat yet?”
My stomach audibly grumbles the answer.
She chuckles and shakes her head. “See, if you’d been brave, you could have had the best fried shrimp I have ever tasted.”
“My food will be here soon. I’ll be fine with my meatballs, thank you very much.”
Her phone at her desk rings loudly. She excuses herself with a tight smile, rushing to answer it. I go to check the app again on the progress of my sub when I’m distracted by another news alert text.
Massive sinkhole devastates downtown Cincinnati, Ohio.
Kyle’s not going to like that one.
The commercial break seems oddly out of place on TV considering the nationwide weather phenomena and natural disasters that are happening. I’d like to think the sinkhole in Ohio is a tad bit more important than a pill to help with erectile disfunction. I flip to another station that’s on location, a frantic reporter waving toward the sinkhole destruction. She’s attempting to hide the panicky edge in her voice, but her eyes are glittering with fear.
What the hell is happening?
Has the moon finally decided to unleash its fury we’ve been promised for the last half century?
Most importantly, where’s my damn sandwich?
Needing a distraction, I make the decision to call my brother. We’re not exactly close and that’s on me, but it doesn’t mean I’m any less worried about him. I hit his contact on my phone and wait for it to connect.
It rings and rings until I’m sent to voicemail.
Great.
Did he change his number? Is he screening my calls? Or, worse yet, is there something going on in south Texas I don’t know about? My gut sours and I’m thankful I don’t have any food in it yet. I consider dialing Dad next. The thought is gone in the next instant. Even the end of the world isn’t enough to get me to speak to him ever again.
It’s fine. Knox is fine. Everything is fine.
You always were good at lying to yourself, Kellen.
The lights flicker several times but remain on. I toss my phone onto the desk and stalk back over to the windows. Rain has begun to pelt the glass, washing away the bloody bird residue. With the increasingly darkening skies and wind speeds picking up, the bay sloshes violently, much like the remaining coffee in my stomach.