The Threat; Chapter One

I was falling again. The wind rushed past my face as I fell through an endless sea of clouds. I continued to descend and my heart skipped a beat when the clouds parted to reveal concrete below me. I tried to scream, but no sound escaped my mouth. I held my hand up to shield my face as I collided with the pavement.

I shot awake as if zapped by an electric current. My heart still racing, I let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit bedroom at my parent’s house, barely illuminated by the streetlights outside. Just a dream, I thought; the same one I’d been having all week. You would think I’d be used to dying in my sleep by now, I muttered to myself, recalling the past 5 nights. I blindly reached for my cell to check the time. It read 4am and I groaned as I fell back against my pillow hoping sleep would overcome me again, but somehow knowing it wouldn’t. Staying awake seemed less frustrating than trying to sleep, so I fumbled for my glasses and stared up at the ceiling, trying to decipher my reoccurring dream. My phone beeped at me, signaling it was low on battery so I got out of bed and walked to the plug near my window to charge it. I stood up and stretched before leaning against the window sill. I adjusted my blinds and peered at the dark and quiet houses outside. Just another typical night in my safe, typical little city, I thought. Fremont was, in fact a safe city. My family knew some of the neighbors, but I don’t think any of us were particularly close to one another. The only trouble that I could remember in my 22 years of living in this house involved a few attempted break-ins four streets down and an exploded water heater several streets past that. It was an average city filled with way too many people leading average everyday lives. I sighed and began thinking about what I could do to start my day. Just then, a garage door was manually thrown up from across the street and two people rushed out, closely followed by a third. The man and the woman were Mr. and Mrs. Sherman, a married couple somewhere in their late 40’s. My parents had briefly attended a huge graduation party that they had thrown the previous day. My parents said it was for their son who had recently completed high school. I only knew that he had been the quarterback for the school’s football team. Apparently he was some big-shot with a long list of achievements for a kid his age and his parents were huge supporters of the school. The husband and wife were each carrying a large piece of luggage and they seemed to be in a huge rush to get into their station wagon. Mr. Sherman reached the driver’s door and fumbled to find the correct key. The third person was staggering after them down the driveway, as if he was injured and judging by his size, it looked like the couple’s son, Marc. As Mrs. Sherman was struggling to get the large suitcase in the back seat, Marc ran into her, knocking her to the ground. She let out a terrified scream as her son fell on top of her and sank his teeth deep into her forearm. My eyes got wide and I blinked several times to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming. I realized I was awake and Mrs. Sherman shrieked again as she shoved her attacker off of her. He rolled down the long stretch of pavement, groaning in pain as he came to a stop in the gutter. Even in the dark, I could see Mrs. Sherman clutching her bleeding wound in an attempt to stop the blood. Mr. Sherman had found the right key and opened the passenger door from the inside so his wife could scramble in, still covering her wound. Mr. Sherman started the car and stepped on the gas. In the next instant, he swerved to the right unexpectedly when Mrs. Sherman lunged at her husband and bit him on his neck. Mr. Sherman lost control of the car, but slammed on the gas and crashed headlong into the large tree in our front yard. The crash echoed down the empty street and sent bits of wood and glass up against the house. Mrs. Sherman was propelled through the front windshield and Mr. Sherman, having remembered his seatbelt, was thrown into the dashboard, adding a bad laceration on his forehead to his current injury. I spotted movement and saw Marc get to his feet and lurch towards the wreckage, one arm slightly outstretched as if he could reach out and touch the car already. A horrible thought sparked in my head and my jaw dropped slightly at my ghastly realization. I heard the shuffling sound of blankets and sheets from down the hall, and I threw open my door and ran for my parents room.