Chris Pike [Pike - Stand Your Ground: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (American Song Series)

Houston, Texas

Current Day

It was exactly 7:10 in the morning on a late April day. I remembered it clearly because it was the last normal day of my life.

A spectacular sunrise greeted me as I drove along the freeway to my high school, weaving in and out of lanes trying to get to class on time. I didnt attend the local school; rather the one for the performing arts located several miles down the freeway from my house.

I paid no attention to the chattering of the DJs on the radio. Instead, my gaze gravitated to low-hanging clouds on the horizon where the orange glow of the morning sun illuminated the odd shapes.

If I hadnt known any better, I would have sworn the clouds were newly forming mountaintops or hills, bubbling up like hot magma, peeking over the massive Houston freeway exchange of the 610 Loop and Interstate 10. The clouds were growing increasingly dark and heavy by the second, and I hoped I could beat them before I arrived at school.

If only they had been rain clouds, life would have been so easy. But they werent, and I didnt beat them, nor did anybody else.

* * *

The day had started out the same as all the rest. Get up, shower, eat a quick breakfast. Beat the clock.

With a towel wrapped around my damp hair, I walked into the kitchen to check breakfast options. Classes were winding down and I couldnt wait until I graduated so I could begin the next chapter of my life.

A fresh pot of coffee had been brewed, the aroma teasing my taste buds. I poured a cup and splashed some sugar and cream in it. I tasted it, deciding it needed a bit more cream. I had gotten hooked on coffee during the fall semester when I had to study for tests late at night after basketball practice. Now I couldnt function without it.

The morning news drummed in the background on our high definition big screen TV while my dad ate breakfast at the table.

Morning, Dad, I said, still half asleep, taking a sip of coffee. I removed the towel and ran my fingers through my hair to untangle it, patting it dry with the towel.

Morning, Ellie Bellie.

Please dont call me that. It makes me feel bad. My shoulders shrank down and my good mood vanished. As a child, people referred to me as a big girl and the label adversely affected me. I thought something was wrong with me, and it bothered me for a long time. Several years ago I had a late growth spurt, and during that summer my baby fat turned into womanly curves, and all the boys started to notice, all except for the one I thought mattered.

I didnt consider myself fat or big, but I suppose at 510 I could be intimidating to some people.

Ella, Im sorry, my dad mumbled as he scarfed down another spoonful of cereal. I forgot how cruel the kids had been to you.

Elementary school was bad when I was the new kid on the block, then being taller than all the boys until recently was really bad. But, hey, Ive got a basketball scholarship for the next four years, so I got the last laugh.

Ill say. And remember, youre my strong girl. He winked.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Dad, youre so funny. Of course Im a strong girl. Our last name is Strong after all.

Well, youre still a strong girl. You have a natural athletic ability which will get you through whatever life throws at you. And youre competitive. Ive seen you on the court, running faster and jumping higher than your competition. You put a lot of points on the board, Ella. Regardless of how the game is played, winning does matter. Dont forget, you nearly singlehandedly propelled your high school girls basketball team to the playoffs.

Ive done a lot of practicing.

Ella, dont downplay what youve done. Ive tried to prepare you to be a leader in whatever you do. Youre showing signs its paying off, and being a captain of your basketball team was the first test of your leadership qualities.

Dad, youre embarrassing me.

Sorry, my dad said. Listen, I was thinking we should celebrate before you leave for basketball camp. When does that start?

Mid-June, so I only have a couple of months until Im gone.

Then lets not waste any more time. I have a question for you, Ella. Doesnt your college have a competitive rifle team?

It does.

Lets go to the shooting range to get you some more practice. Youre a natural with a gun, and joining the team would be a good way to meet some boys.

Well see about that.

Ella, I know youve had a special relationship with Tommy for many years, but he doesnt treat you like a girlfriend.

Dad, lets not talk about that. Not now. Tell you what. Lets go to the shooting range this weekend.

Deal.

Dad, Ill miss being here.

Dont be sad, he said. Youll make new friends.

Our morning banter was interrupted by the loud jingle of a breaking news story on the big screen TV. My attention was square on the action. Reporters and cameramen were jostling for position on the tarmac at one of the airports.

Is that at Intercontinental Airport? I asked.

I dont think so. Its probably Ellington Field, the one in southwest Houston. Its the airfield presidents normally fly in and out of when they make a trip here.

I gave my dad a puzzled look. Why?

For security reasons.

Oh, right.

A camera zoomed to a horde of men wearing serious expressions, dark sunglasses, dark suits, and guns drawn. Theyd taken a shooters stance, crouched with their legs hip wide apart, both hands on their guns. Another group of the same kind of men held back the reporters, clamoring for a better position.

Whats going on? I sat down on the sofa near the TV to get a better look. Are those Secret Service?

I believe so.

Did you see that, Dad? One of them is putting on a gas mask. Are they being gassed?

I doubt it. Probably only a precaution.