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Since I’ve passed the halfway point, I want to celebrate by releasing the Prologue for EVENT HORIZON: Book Two in The Perseid Collapse Series.
4,700 words (16-20 pages) chronicling Ryan Fletcher’s experience at Zero Hour on the morning of the EVENT. In this extended chapter, you’ll experience the terror from a different perspective, at a location much closer to the point of impact. What Ryan Fletcher experiences is by far the most apocalyptic scene in the series.
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EVENT HORIZON Teaser:
Prologue
EVENT 00:00 Hours
Boston University
Boston, Massachusetts
Ryan Fletcher squinted at his alien surroundings, agonizingly aware that he had been robbed of sleep. Unnaturally brilliant light penetrated the flimsy, translucent curtains, exposing the beige cinderblock walls and sparse furniture to his blurry vision. The glaring view of his dorm room faded quickly, replaced by a soft flickering light. He raised his head a few inches off the pillow to view the digital alarm clock resting on his desk. A dark object stared back. Wonderful. Heavy hands came together on his chest to manipulate the tiny buttons on his digital watch. A blue-green light bathed his face. 4:59. Brutal.
He closed his eyes and let his head sink into the familiar, worn-out pillow brought from home, and started to drift off—when the steel bedframe under his thin mattress started to rattle against the wooden dresser behind his head. Angry thoughts of the “T” waking him every morning of his freshmen year yanked him out of the murky depths of sleep. This is bullshit! He sat up, fully awake and pissed off at his room assignment. Nobody had mentioned the fact that the train would make a stop inside his room. The vibration intensified, accompanied by a deafening roar.
“No way I’m dealing with this for an entire year,” he mumbled.
The bed heaved upward, tossing him face down onto the carpeted floor. He lay prone for a few seconds, stunned by the sudden mayhem unleashed on his room. Another massive jolt rocked the building. He needed to get out of here.
Ryan grabbed the bedframe and tried to stand, but the room pitched violently, dropping him to his hands and knees. This is good enough. He crawled in the darkness toward the door, tumbling sideways into the wooden dresser beyond his bed as the building swayed. Ryan scurried into the small vestibule next to the door, moments before both of the room’s heavy, wooden dressers crashed to the floor. He leaned his back into the vestibule’s cold cinderblock walls and pressed his bare feet against the other.
Adding and releasing pressure on his legs to stay in place, Ryan moved with the building, hoping the walls didn’t collapse. Not that it would matter at that point. The building was nearly fifty years old, and if the interior walls started to fail, rescue teams would be lucky to find any of them alive. He dug his feet into the wall in front of him and closed his eyes. He was on autopilot, too disoriented and terrified to put any effort into anything beyond his immediate survival. He knew that he should be sitting under the doorframe, but he couldn’t convince his body to give up the stable position he had established between the two walls.
Moments later, the shaking abated, and the thunderous rumble yielded to distant car alarms and screaming. Ryan stood on wobbly legs and braced himself against the walls with both hands, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea. A strong campfire smell drew his attention to the flimsy curtains flapping gently through the jagged remains of the window. A wave of dizziness struck, buckling his knees. The window could wait.
Bright yellow and orange light danced against the room’s dark interior, pushing his curiosity. He had to see what happened outside of the building. Testing his legs, he edged out of the vestibule and stopped in front of the fallen dressers. Glancing up at broken windows, a flash-flood of rational, analytical thoughts overloaded him. First things first.
He tilted the top dresser upward, letting all of the empty drawers fall to the floor as he heaved it against the opposite wall. His dresser was next, but he took care to keep the drawers pushed firmly shut. Ryan dug through the dresser and quickly replaced his athletic shorts with jeans. Thick wool socks covered his feet, followed by a pair of well-travelled, dark brown hiking boots. He saw no sense in cutting his feet on broken glass before he left his room. He stepped over to the window and brushed aside the flimsy curtains. Flames engulfed western Boston, extending as far as he could see from his sixth story window.
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