CHAPTER ONE

 

Before the solar flares hit Earth’s atmosphere I check the lock on my office cabinet, securing the lab equipment, double checking my data upload to the university’s cloud has finished, as well as the download of duplicates to my external hard drive. I slip the palm-sized case into my lab coat pocket. One form of backup is never enough to my mind and who knows if the cloud will even survive the surge of energy that’s supposed to hit everyone across the globe.

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People went crazy back in two thousand when computer clocks switched over to the new century. Baths were filled with water. Pantries were stocked with food and everyone made sure they weren’t driving in case their cars stopped working, but the clocks ticked over and everything carried on as usual after a collective sigh of relief. These solar flares could be the same, but I guess deep down I’m either a crazy doomsday prepper or a girl scout.

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Actually, I like to be prepared. I spend far too many hours of my life studying cellular mutation for it to go up in a poof of electronic smoke. My research is too precious. More than precious.

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It’s my entire life.

 

I’ve spent months watching cells divide, thrive or die beneath my microscope. Some days—most days—pass without me seeing daylight while I’m in the lab. It doesn’t matter. What I do here is too important to worry about the cycle of the sun and moon. This is the type of research that could be Earth changing. It would certainly be career changing. I’ve already garnered interest from Genetech who wants to be the first company with a cure for all forms of cancer.

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I’m a talented scientist, but also a lucky one. I stumbled into a process involving germline mutations of the p53 gene during my undergrad. Patients who carry p53 mutations are rare, but they’re at a higher risk of developing many cancers. In particular, oncogenes, able to turn a healthy cell into a cancerous cell. The HER2 is a bastard protein that controls cancer growth and spread. My research stops that protein in its tracks. If my research is successful, I can effectively halve cancer deaths across the world, so if I back up my research on a hundred different devices, it will be worth it.

 

The p53 gene robbed me of my mother when I was ten and my father just after I turned nineteen, and left me with a ticking cancer-bomb coded into the genetic makeup of my body. Chances are, when I reach a certain age, my cells will start to mutate and I refuse to be another statistic. To say I’m emotionally invested in this research is an understatement. I’ve sacrificed my friends, my hours and my life for it, and I’m damned if a solar flare will strip it away from me.

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The other doctorate students should have made sure everything was off before they left the lab, but they’d been too concerned about getting to the university’s solar-flare-inspired ‘end-of-days’ party, which is just an excuse for a gigantic piss up. No one asked if I was going to the party. Not that they’d miss me when I didn’t show. I want an early start in the morning as I’ve planned to run a test on a new batch of rat cells. I slightly tweaked an active agent I’d manufactured today and am keen for the results. I don’t want to waste my time struggling with a hangover.

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I flip off another computer, making sure it powers down properly. Luckily, I came back here after dinner. It gave me time to run some particular diagnostics I wanted to get done before tomorrow. Now it’s close to midnight, and time to head to my dorm for a few hours of sleep before I return here prior to dawn breaking.

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As I reach for the remote to switch off the TV running quietly in the background, my attention snags on the close-up images of the raging sun. The red banner running across the bottom of the screen flashes the word ‘alert’.

 

A glowing dot forms on the underbelly of the sun. There is rapid chatter from the TV anchor about how large the sunspot is, and how much damage might occur if it gets too big. They’ve discussed everything from sunburn to radioactive destruction. I hadn’t paid the talk much attention, but as I watch the vision, flames grow larger and higher and the TV anchor quietens as he watches in real time. Strips of burning ropes drift from the sun’s surface. The end of one rope skims across the dark of space toward Earth with unanticipated precision.

 

The television flickers and goes out, leaving static burning the screen. I look out the window to see the night sky glowing red.

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The lights of the lab go out and the lab equipment is limned in red. Red lightning skitters across the equipment and jumps onto my hand, races up my arm and sinks into my skin. Energy buzzes through my bones and pulses inside my chest. My heart races and heat infuses my skin. I sway, lightheaded, as though my blood is draining from my body, leaving only my muscles and bones behind.

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My feet lift and I rise from the floor, suspended by nothing but air. A pinprick of white light erupts above my head and flashes over me. My body tears apart and I hurtle through a tunnel of light, twisting this way and that. Light streaks past me, or maybe I streak through it. All I know is I’m going at a dizzying pace.

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I try to scream, but no sound wrenches from me. There is only blinding light and terror and confusion, going on and on and on. I don’t know if I’m even breathing, or if my heart is beating.

 

My body is heavy and light at the same time. I’m being ripped apart cell by cell. The building blocks of my body stack back the right way instead of the haphazard patterns in which they were for the twenty three years I’ve been alive. Disharmonious notes inside me blend into a rich chorus.

 

The light abruptly ends and I’m thrown from the tunnel, my body slamming onto hard-packed dirt. My bones crunch as I roll over several times before I come to a stop. All I can do is lie on the ground, claw the dirt and cough and gasp and pant, my mind frozen and face streaked with tears and snot.

 

The white dots dancing in my vision clear and I’m able to see my surroundings. I almost wish I was blinded by them again. I’m lying among tall strands of wheat, but the strands are midnight black instead of washed-out yellow. They sway, the tips rustle-clattering as they move. There’s no wind to make them move. The air is stagnant and heavy with surging humid heat that clings to my body.

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The sky above reminds me of burned skin. Red and yellow splotches are bruised with inky black clouds. Blackened smoky particles drift in a heat haze. I inhale and cough when soot fills my lungs. It’s then I notice the sound of flames. Not the friendly crackle of flickering flames in a campfire, but the roar of an out-of-control fire. The type of fire that wipes out houses and forests and burns people alive when they’re taken by surprise and left with no time to run.

 

I come up on my elbow, peeking over the black wheat, and see a wall of flame bearing down on me, so hot the air vibrates and shimmers. I scramble to my feet and stumble, legs buckling. I sprawl onto the ground, landing atop the wheat, sharp tips cutting through my lab coat and my skin. Blood blooms, liquid red over the white fabric, but thankfully I’m in no pain. I’m too out-of-my-mind scared to be anything but terror personified.

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I glance over my shoulder to see the fire bearing toward me impossibly fast. I scramble to my feet and run through the sea of black blades. My throat is dry and my lungs burn as I try to outrun the fire even though I have no chance. Survival instincts are strange like that.

 

A roar booms around me and the ground shakes. Water explodes to my right and shoots into the air as though a dam has broken, only it streaks into the sky instead of pouring into a catchment basin, shooting higher and higher until it reaches its zenith and rains scalding hot water down on me.

 

I fall to my knees and hunch over. I bring my lab coat over my head, crying out in agony as my collarbone grates, but then I don’t think about my bones as water pounds onto my back and forces me to the ground beneath its weight. It turns the dirt into instant mud and I gasp for air when muck fills my mouth. I’m under a waterfall. A terrible, scalding-hot, never-ending waterfall that scorches my skin and clogs my lungs.

 

The water keeps falling and I think I’m going to pass out but then the force of it weakens. Splattering drops rain down and stop. I’m bruised all over, my limbs so weak I can barely move. The ground quakes and I know another water geyser is going to erupt, maybe this time right below me.

 

I somehow get my legs under me and stagger upright. The water has put out the raging fire but steam rises in thick blankets. I breathe in cloying humidity, coughing, eyes streaming. I don’t think I can take another step. Maybe this is it for me. Maybe I die before cancer has had a chance to mutate and ravage my body; before I’ve had a chance to cure the millions.

 

An alarmed shout snags my attention. Blurry figures run toward me, slashing through the black wheat. I swipe the tears from my eyes and my heart stops racing before it punches my chest in a pounding beat and my mind tries to find reason where there is none to be found. These figures, at least twenty of them, are not people. These are creatures with red skin and black horns spiraling from their temples and up over their skulls. Thick black hair falls across their shoulders and halfway down their backs. They are not human. They’re not even from mythology. They are terrifying, otherworldly beasts that make my brain stutter and halt. I must have died and my soul is in hell because these demons straight out of hell are descending on me.

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They charge toward me on powerful thick legs. Draped over their hips and thighs is a black loin cloth made from flimsy leather strips. The skirts are high waisted, and only accentuate their toned torsos, pecs formed from solid, defined muscle and broad shoulders that are four times as wide as mine. Their biceps bulge as they slash through the wheat with sweeping, powerful strokes from long, glinting silver swords.

 

They have no eyes. Just a broad blackened strip across their faces that goes from temple to temple. Thick white canines drop onto their bottom lips. They’re running at me and I’m clearly their terrifying sole focus.

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A gust of wind rakes steam across the ground and obscures them from me. I force my legs to work and stumble away from the demons. I ignore the stalks that cut through my jeans and stain the denim red with my blood. A few gashes will be nothing if these creatures catch me.

 

The steam swallows me. I surge forward but a figure lunges through the haze. His powerful arms stretch as he swipes black, claw-tipped fingers toward me. He is a whole head and shoulders taller than me. I scream, turn on my heel, and bolt away from him. The steam drifts on the breeze and clears, allowing me to see the creatures I’m running toward. I stagger to a stop, turn in a circle to find them surrounding me and closing in.

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I sob out loud, unable to contain the blinding terror that rips through me. My body shakes. My knees wobble, but I refuse to go down without a fight. I’ll struggle as hard as I can. I’ll kick and claw, scratch and bite.

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They converge around me, caging me in a contracting formation. This close I realize they do have eyes, but the sclera, iris and pupils are a flat, gleaming black and indistinguishable with the horizontal patch of black paint across their upper faces. Made from the dregs of my nightmares, they are terrifying creatures. I must be dead. There’s no other reason to witness these creatures. The tunnel stole me from my lab and threw me into hell. My muscles turn to liquid and I wonder what I did to deserve an eternity of torture because if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that there is no place on Earth like this.

I clench my fists, draw together as much courage as I possess and yell, “Don’t come any closer!”

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They stop stalking me and mutter to each other. I hear growls and voices so low they are just rumbly sounds. The looks I get are slightly confused, but one of them lifts his head, closes his eyes. His nostrils flare as he drags in air. His tongue flickers from his mouth like a snake.

 

His barrel-sized head lowers and he pins me with a look that pulses through me. “Awmygha.”

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The word is absolute and cements itself within me. The air charges with something far more terrible than fire and smoke and scalding hot water as feral looks pass between the demons. My insides pulse and the place between my legs throbs, like a physical touch. I look down to see what might have stroked me, but there’s nothing.

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A snarl rips from one creature’s lips and they charge toward me as though I’m some sort of prize. Panic takes control, but there is nowhere I can run. I’m surrounded and I know when they reach me I will not survive what they have in store for me. I run anyway because my mind and body demand I fight, no matter how the odds stack against me.

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A whooshing sound beats above my head. Wind whips my hair and clothes, and a roar louder than any made by the demons vibrates through me. I look up, the breath catching in my lungs to see a demon riding a great winged horse streaking toward me. Its mane is made from flames of red, orange and yellow accentuating its thick black armor and gleaming midnight coat. Its wings are as wide as a bus, its sleek flack feathers tipped by burning reds and yellows.

 

The demon riding the horse is the most horrifying. He’s massive. Bigger than the other demons by another half a head at least. Long black hair streams behind him. His eyes are narrowed, his lips peeled back, revealing fangs big enough to rip my throat open with one simple tear. He is terrifying in his masculine, horrifying beauty.

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His arm stretches out as the horse swoops. He holds the reins in one hand, his thick fingers wrapping around the black chain with expert ease. Self-preservation kicks in and I turn and run, but I’m too slow. His arm bands around my middle. His muscles are solid, his grip sure as he plucks me off the ground. I’m swept into the air and crushed against his massive chest that smells of smoky leather and sin.

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I thrash, but his steel muscles don’t let me go. He traps me against his body so I can barely move. He is simply too big and powerful.

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His low growl sounds in my ear and a wash of heated air spills across the side of my face from his fiery breath. I’m too scared to move. I’m a ragged, panting mess; a rabbit trapped between a wolf’s jaws, waiting for them to close around my neck and end my life, and there’s nothing I can do.

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