Part 1

Part 2

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Final update

Sunday morning (the 7th day)

I’m sorry it’s been so long for this update. It’s been a fucked up couple of days, but all is well. This whole experience seems to be fading from my memory, but I’ll try to give as much detail as I can remember.

So, we did try to make it out of the neighborhood, Jesus, was it a week ago? We packed some clothes, my mountain of anxiety meds, and some bathroom supplies and got the fuck out of dodge.

Driving through the neighborhood, we saw a few of our neighbors wandering around, confused, crying, seeming lost and alone. None even looked at us as we sped past. We also noticed even more yards empty of the coffins. Looked like maybe 4 or 5 out of every 10 had someone taken.

Carrie was stunned by how many had gone. I saw her mouth moving as she looked out the windows, and finally figured out that she was whispering, “That’s not gonna be me. That’s not gonna be me” over and over. I put a hand on her knee to calm her.

“Hey. We’re leaving. We are going to be fine.”

She said nothing.

We made it to the exit of the neighborhood, and I stopped. I was almost expecting to see a glowing forcefield holding us in, but all I saw was the road out and the entrance sign.

Welcome to Harmony Hills

No solicitors

I slowly pulled out, and once I was sure that the car wasn’t going to immediately and mysteriously break down or explode, or that we were going to get sucked into a portal to Hell, I hit the gas. Carrie watched the neighborhood disappear behind us and let out an audible sigh of relief.

We continued driving down the empty road, feeling the freedom of the passing pines and sand to the left and right of us. Despite the chill in the air, we opened the windows just to feel the wind, like a celebration of our escape. We looked at each other and even smiled a little.

“What do you think is going to happen to the rest of them?” Carrie asked.

“Hopefully, they’ll do what we did and get the fuck out.”

“Yeah...” the line of concern showed between her brows again.

We drove for some time without seeing another car. Not unusual, considering our remote location, but I was eager to see some people just doing normal things, their faces unmarred by grief, panic, or despair.

Finally, we pulled into the first sign of civilization, a small strip mall with a Wawa at one end, and a Cranberry Markets at the other. I always wondered how one small strip could maintain two convenience stores, they’d managed their balance for about 5 years now, plenty of customers for both. Except, today, the parking lots were empty, and the lights in all of the stores were dark.

I felt a stab of panic, and looked at Carrie. She was in full deer-in-headlights mode. I opened the car door and and snap of that latch made her jump, a small shriek escaping her lips.

I stepped out of the car, sensing something was off, above and beyond the lack of people. I walked up to the Cranberry Markets storefront and peered in. Not only were there no customers or clerks, there was nothing. No shelves, no counter. The coffee machines were gone, as was everything in the refrigerators. The floors were empty and gleaming white in the sunlight that made it through the store windows. It was as if the store had just been built and was waiting to be supplied, clean and bare.

A quick walk down the rest of the strip showed that every single storefront was in the same sterile and desolate state. When I reached the Wawa at the end of the strip I rattled the door to see if it would open, but it was locked tight. Listening to the echo of the metallic rattle of the door, it hit me what else was off. There was no sound other than the whistle of the breeze through the trees. Normally, you’d hear mourning doves, chipmunks rustling the leaves of the scattered oaks, even the rare Bob White quail off in the distance. There was nothing. Not a single scrap of sound gave evidence of anything living around us.

I hurried to the car and once I was in and pulling out of the parking lot, I told Carrie what I heard and saw. She barely reacted, just a small nod.

“We are getting out of here”, I reassured, “We just need to get far enough away.”

Twenty-five minutes later, we were driving through the closest town, a quaint little village with a typically lively Main Street and an Inn which was restored from an old cranberry packing house.

It was empty.

Driving slowly past, we could see that each business and restaurant was in the same pristine, yet abandoned state. Still, we were met with no cars on the road, or people walking the sidewalks. The world had emptied and we were the last drops of life remaining.

As soon as we realized that there was no-one, I sped the car up and went for distance. We headed up the coast through New York on highways empty of cars. I thought the sight of the city, silent and empty was the eeriest part of the trip. Carrie was more freaked by driving through the empty and dark Lincoln tunnel. I can see her point. There were a few times where I thought I saw movement just outside the range of our headlights. It still gives me the shivers, even sitting comfortably on my couch at home.

The sun started to go down as we approached Hartford, so we decided to stop and look for food and someplace to sleep. The houses around us were just as empty as every other building, so we found nothing to eat nor could we find a bed. In the last house we entered, we just put down a pillow made of our packed clothing and cuddled close for warmth. The lack of any sort of noise created a constant rush of white noise in our ears as our brains tried to create any kind of stimulation at all. Despite the phantom noise, we eventually found sleep.

In my dream, I was looking out our living room window. I could see Carrie moving slowly toward the coffin. Surrounding her were the Pallbearers, with their tall, black satin hats and expressions of complete and utter glee on their long, pale faces. Their eyes widened in delight over sharp-toothed smiles and Carrie opened the lid and started to get in.

I couldn’t move. Tears were streaming down my face and I knew in a few moments, I wouldn’t even remember her. Meeting her at a friend’s party and clicking over the old Legend of Zelda games, both of us cracking up as we each dropped our wedding rings during our wedding ceremony. All of that was about to be wiped from existence. As the lid closed, I woke up weeping into my hands.

Something was different. I heard Carrie stir, rustling in the sheets. Sheets?

I looked through my fingers like a child watching a horror movie. We were back home. I woke Carrie up the rest of the way, and she dully looked around before falling back onto her pillow.

Our clothes were back in the drawers, and we were in our pajamas. Looking out our bedroom window, I saw that the car was gone. So, that was it. We were stuck.

We spent the rest of the next several days sitting in the house, just waiting. We barely spoke. I noticed that the other neighbors had stopped coming outside, too. The neighborhood became as quiet and empty as the world outside had been. Every day became enshrouded by a dense fog of apathetic anticipation.

Then, last night I awoke at around midnight when I heard a scream from Carrie. It was the first sound she had made in days, and it pierced through my head like a barbed arrow. I shot up out of bed to see one of the Pallbearers looking at her through the window, smiling and beckoning to her.

Suddenly, I felt energy fly back into my body and I ran down the stairs to where our bedroom was on the outside of the house. When I got there, I could hear my heart racing in my ears and feel the surges of blood pulsating in my neck.

Nothing.

The Pallbearer had spirited away, if he had ever been there at all. Without deciding to, I started walking around the block as the vigor left my body. I noticed that only one or two out of every 10 houses now had a casket, and I realized this was about to end. Back at my house, I mourned the life Carrie and I had together, knowing it was already lost.

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Midnight, Monday the 31st

Yesterday, Carrie didn’t get out of bed. She just wrapped herself in a cocoon of sheets, with just her eyes and nose peeking out. I tried to rouse her, but she didn’t react. I spent the day on the couch, wasting the last few moments I had with her. When night came, I went back up to bed and kissed her on the cheek through the blankets as I got under the covers.

Midnight. I wake to a moon that is painting out room an incandescent white-blue, and to an empty bed. There was no stab of fear, no heart leaping into my throat, just a dull, plodding ache of loss. Did I want to watch this happen? My legs carried me down the stairs, and I turned the corner to our living room.

There was Carrie, watching out the window, tears streaming down her face. I don’t think she was able to move, but she was looking at me out of the corner of her eyes, her face expressionless.

And I understand. The strength is gone from my my legs and I sit heavily on the couch. Inevitability washes over me as I think about what it will be like to be gone. To never have been here in the first place. I mourn the loss of my life, I mourn my children who I hadn’t seen in what felt like an eternity and were about to have never been born. I mourn the happy moments filled with love and laughter that were about to never have happened. I mourn myself.A few more moments have passed while I write this, and I now hear slow tires crunching on the road and my mind quiets and is still.

It’s time to go. I’m ready.