A soft moan slipped out breaking the silence. It wasn't a prick, instead it felt like a slow, ongoing pain that throbbed every time his heart beat.
The pain started at the back of his neck, heavy and forceful like a hammer striking his skull.
It spread outward, igniting a burning pulse in his ribs and a raw ache in his jaw.
Daniel let out a groan, a noise emerging from deep, inside his throat. His eyelids felt heavy. It was sealed shut by a crust he only now realized was dried blood.
Slowly, he forced his eyes open. All he saw were forms that he could partially recognize.
He lay flat on his bedroom floor with his face resting on the plank.
Sunlight, bright and cheerful, streamed the window, painting a warm rectangle on the wall.
For a while, he wondered if it had all been a nightmare. Perhaps, a terrible dream brought on by eating too much pizza.
Then the memories rushed in. It came piece by piece, as chaotic flashes of terror.
The earthquake. Chloe's scream. The sun disappearing and the blood-red moon.
The reporter's calm face slowly turned into horror.
He saw the creatures, their bruised flesh and burning eyes. The wardrobe. Chloe's tiny, terrified squeak.
"Kra'shel tikta vren'sa nol'tar."
The alien words resonated in his mind, sharp and crystal clear.
He recalled the leader's cold stare, that horrifying fascination in its eyes when it landed on his sister.
He sensed the pain from the hit on his ribs. He saw himself, a fool playing the hero, launching a clumpsy attack. And then… white light. A crushing blow. And her face.
The last image burnt into his mind: Chloe, mouth wide open as though yelling but silent, being pulled into a shining portal that shouldn't even exist in the first place.
"Chloe " he whispered softly, the name tasting like ash and blood in his mouth.
Daniel pushed himself up using the wall as support, even though he was feeling so dizzy that the room seemed to spin.
Each muscle seemed to burn. A new wave of pain hit him in the side, and when he carefully pressed on it, the rough grind of broken ribs made him feel sick.
The pain in his body was nothing compared to the fear that was building up in his gut.
The house stayed still. It wasn't the calm of an afternoon but rather, like an empty shell where no sound dared to break the stillness. It was strangely disturbing.
He stumbled out of the bedroom. As he got out, his bare feet stuck to something tacky on the floor. He didn't have to look down to know it was his own blood.
The hallway was a disaster zone. Photos of family trips and school achievements had been smashed. Pieces of glass sparkled on the ground like ice.
In the living room, the couch was flipped over, its filling torn out. The coffee table was broken into pieces.
His fathers favorite armchair had a huge cut in the back that looked like claw marks.
His gaze fell upon the door , or what was left of it. It had been ripped from its frame broken pieces scattered across the floorboards creating an opening where the door had been.
He moved closer. There were bloody tracks going from the opening out across the welcome mat and down the front steps.
They weren't human. They were large three-toed, and vicious-looking. They led away from the house and did not return.
A suppressed cry broke free, from Daniel. His worst fears were screaming in his head, but a stubborn part of him still refused to believe it.
He needed proof. He turned, his movements were stiff like a machine running out of power. He staggered back to the bedroom, to the wardrobe.
The heavy doors made of wood had been ripped off and thrown away like cardboard.
Looking through the opening he felt his heart pounding beneath cracked ribs.
The tattered clothes with the blanket he had earlier pushed Chloe beneath were now ripped to pieces and thrown about.
His fingers trembled as they reached inside almost failing to hold onto the cloth. Then slowly piece by piece he pulled them out.
A worn-out jacket. A moth-eaten blanket. Then again, a dirty duvet.
He looked again, and then he saw it. A small pink fabric showing from underneath a pair of worn-out jeans.
It was from the sleeve of the T-shirt Chloe wore. It was torn and stained with dried blood.
The wardrobe was empty. She was gone!
The denial shattered, and the brutal force of reality hit him hard.
Daniel fell to his knees, a soundless scream tearing through him. He had failed. The one time it truly mattered, the one person he was supposed to protect, and he had failed.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, kneeling amidst the wreckage of his room and life.
After some time, a sudden urge that he couldn't ignore forced him to get up.
He moved silently through the house like a ghost, his bare feet crunching on broken glass. He stepped through the torn doorway to the outside world.
He was not prepared for what he saw.
His quiet suburban street was gone. Now it was just wreckage. Houses were reduced to frames, walls collapsed, roofs caved in.
Cars were flipped over, and several others were consumed by flames and melted into grotesque sculptures of metal.
And the bodies?? They were everywhere. Dismembered body parts lay scattered across the ground like discarded toys.
Bodies were scattered in the street, their faces frozen in an expression of terror.
The brutal and senseless slaughter was overwhelming. The sight and stench of death were more than he could bear.
Daniel staggered to the edge of what was once his lawn, bent over and vomited. When the heaving stopped, he wiped his mouth with the back of his bloody hand as his eyes scanned the scene of destruction.
It was real. All of it. Everything and everyone he knew had been wiped from existence overnight.
A desperate urge to reach out to another person, any individual, hit him profoundly for some sign that he wasn't the last man on earth.
He rummaged through his jacket looking for his phone. Although the screen was shattered, it still turned on.
No signal. "Of course". He ran back inside, tripping over debris, then he grabbed the TV remote.
He aimed it at the screen while his thumb pressed down hard on the power button.
Nothing.
The screen stayed dead. It stayed lifeless, almost like it was watching him instead.
He was alone. Utterly, completely alone in a world of corpses.
His last bit of strength faded away. He collapsed onto the toppled couch, the damaged springs poked into his back.
"I couldn't protect her " he murmured, his voice rough and nearly silent. His voice cracked. "I let them take her."
He sat up, rubbing his palm against his clenched fist.
"I could have died protecting her, " he snarled at the empty room.
He stood up shaking with a rush of adrenaline.
He looked over at the television. This device symbolized an existence he formerly had that had been stolen from him.
It was senseless and futile.
With a roar that was more animal than human, he punched straight through theTV screen.
There was a shower of sparks and the sharp crackle of failing electricity.
The glass shattered and a burning pain shot up his arm as splinters lodged into his knuckles.
Fresh, red blood spurted out, spreading across the floor and mixing with the dried remnants.
He hardly noticed it. The pain gave him a tiny bit of relief, a momentary escape from his new reality.
He stood there panting with his bleeding fist. He was a broken soul in a broken world.