Awakening

Trying not to waste any time, Clement jumped out of his bed and ran to his window. The first thing wrong with it was a series of cracks running across the glass - so powerful was the explosion that it had almost knocked his windows out. Almost right after the first discovery, he noticed the eerie glow.

It was still dark, but a glowing, flashing light was casting shadows from the neighbours’ neatly trimmed hedges and cars. Something just out of sight but still frighteningly close was burning very intensely. Clement shivered. Perhaps it was time to leave.

He headed out the door, through the narrow hallway, and into the small kitchen, intending to throw together something to eat before leaving. However, just as he was pouring a glass of milk for his cereal, a second explosion, just as powerful as the first, rocked the house. Despite its small size it had survived storms that tore the neighbours’ whole roofs off completely intact, but now it was jumping up and down like a toy. Clement realized that he wouldn’t get to enjoy his breakfast uninterrupted. It was time to leave.

With this in mind, he dashed from room to room, searching for valuables, documents, tools and anything else that he might find useful. Duffel bags, suitcases and backpacks were filled, emptied, and reorganized. Soon his room’s floor was littered with books, clothes, and electronics.

In spite of the panic that was overtaking him, Clement was a very efficient packer, and the mountain of luggage was ready in no time. Of course, he didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, since he hadn’t had the time to check his phone yet, but to him it seemed like a very trivial interval. He had settled on filling the duffel bag , the one he usually took camping, with about a week’s worth of clothes, filling a second, analogous duffel bag he’d “borrowed” from his sister with perishable food, reserving a backpack for electronics, chargers, and spare batteries, cramming his father’s toolbox with all the tools he could gather, and the filling only suitcase that wasn’t taken along on the road trip with documents: passports, tax returns, birth certificates, property deeds on the house and the office, and a thick stack of incorporation papers for the family business.

This was far too much for him to carry, so he decided to borrow the car, too. Since his brother had finished his Master’s Degree that year, and Clement and Victoria were still not in university, the financial strain on their family was lessened considerably, so they had bought a new car. However, selling the old one - a pickup truck inherited from their grandfather’s farm - proved to be quite difficult, as there wasn’t much demand in town for it. So, the sale was postponed until the elder Wilsons got back from their trip, and so it stood in their driveway, aimlessly.

Clement grabbed the keys for it from a drawer, praying that it hadn’t rusted or broken down, and still had enough gas. He only had his G1 learner’s permit, meaning he could only drive with someone else in the car, but this was an emergency, and he was sure the cops had their hands full dealing with whatever had exploded anyways.

“It won’t even be a far drive,” he reassured himself.

The last item to pick up was his laptop, still charging on the kitchen table just as he had left it yesterday. He raced over to it, trying to both disconnect and unplug the charger at the same time, but encountered some resistance. He pulled harder, and the maneuver seemed to work, but, upon closer inspection, the entire outlet had detached with the plug. Cursing it, himself, and the circumstances that were forcing him to leave his home in such a hurry, he detached it and threw it on the ground, simultaneously shoving the laptop and charger into the backpack filled with other electronics.

There was another bright flash of light: the third explosion caught him just as he was exiting the house, two duffel bags on his shoulders. He cursed, bent down in a symbolic gesture to not get hit with hypothetical shrapnel, and ran towards the truck. Not believing himself to have the time to open its heavy doors, nor fearing any rain from the clear night sky, he threw the bags into the open back and ran for the second load of luggage. The toolbox and suitcase followed.

As he entered the house for the last item - the backpack - the sight of the gaping hole in the wall, the crumbled drywall on the ground, and the torn outlet on the table made him feel a little bad. He’d fix it, he promised to himself, right after the chaotic events blew over. His parents had wanted him to show more initiative in fixing things around the house, and that outlet was loose from the first day they had moved in. They wouldn’t even know what happened to it, he reassured himself, and ran out the door with his backpack in hand.

He fumbled with the key a little when unlocking the driver’s door - the truck had no digital key fob - but was in soon enough. To his relief, the engine started with a mighty roar, just as he’d remembered.

Then, as he was pulling out of his driveway, his phone rang. He checked inside the house that there was still no connection, so this had to be either a friend or family member, calling on urgent business. Well, maybe not - he’d instructed them all to give him a call or send a text when they got home. He pulled over next to his neighbour’s driveway, killed the engine, and took his cell phone out.

Eliza… Why was she of all people calling him? They had exchanged contact information at a conference last year, but never directly called each other again after that. In fact, they hardly spoke at the weekly club meetings. Frowning, he accepted the call.

“Clement! Thank God there’s still internet here.” her voice sounded positively hysteric, the loudest and most frantic he had ever heard it.

“What the hell happened? Did you not get home??"

“I don’t know! The car swerved and we crashed and that’s all I remember. I just came to my senses.” To her credit, despite being frantic, the stream of information was constant, and no unnecessary details were added.

His heart sank. It seemed that the worst had indeed happened. How the hell did the most experienced driver get into a crash, though?

“What??? Are the others alright?”

“No. Jean is stuck, and Gar, he… isn’t … moving at all. Even I’m covered in blood.”

“What? Have you called 9-1-1 yet? Where are you, anyways?”

“9-1-1 said they’re busy and can’t come right away. You gotta get here yourself. Please, I can’t even move them out of the car. Barely got out myself. Education Lane, just short of King Street.”

Clement’s phone dropped out of his hand. He fumbled about to try and pick it up, but his hands were shaking too much. They hadn’t even gotten out of the wooded part of the street that led to the school. So much for safe driving.

“Alright, I’ll be right there. Let me just get what I can in terms of medicine.” he could only shout at it before hanging up.

He threw open the car door and sprinted out, leaving it ajar. He didn’t remember how he got into his home, shovelled everything from the medicine cabinet into a bag, how he sprinted back, cursing at the grass for slowing him down. Next thing he knew, he was already accelerating down his street, gas to the floor, still closing the door, the bag of assorted medicine on the seat beside him. The thumping of blood in his ears combined with the revving of the engine, and sent him into an adrenaline-induced craze. The truck accelerated faster than it was ever intended to.

At the end of the road was a stop sign, which he promptly ignored. His tires squealed as he forced his truck to turn. Due to the speed, the turn was too wide, and he hit a bit of the opposite side of the road. His driving instructor would’ve skinned him alive for such a maneuver, but it didn’t matter anyways because the street was completely empty: only shadows from the bright fire in the distance behind him danced on the road and the sidewalks.

The rest of the trip was pretty much a straight line to Education Lane, on which the other car had crashed. The light of the just-rising sun illuminated his path more and more. Though a red light appeared in front of him, he pushed onwards, showering the quiet streets of the small town with his engine’s bellowing. His mind raced. By the time he had to turn, he had already deduced the probable source of the fire and explosions that had woken him: it was likely to be the gas station. The fuel pumps being far apart, but still in relative proximity, somewhat explained the delayed explosions. His stomach crawled: it was Eliza’s family that owned and staffed that particular gas station. He could only hope they evacuated in time and were alright.

Having learned his lesson from the previous turn, he slowed down a little to allow himself to turn properly, but once the car straightened, he sped down the new street. It was treacherous and winding, just as he had predicted. In his mind, he cursed the developers for putting the new school building there - they had complete liberty over where to put it, but chose to build right where the old school stood - in the middle of a dense forest that could hardly be called a park.

So dense was the forest, indeed, that Clement only saw the ambulance’s flashing lights just as he rounded the final turn.