The Sole Survivors' Club

Prologue

In the final moments before her life was turned upside down, Monica Harper stared at the sky through the back windshield of her parents’ Honda Civic. She was sixteen, insulated from the chatter of her parents by her headphones, and preoccupied with a search for patterns among the few clouds in the sky.

If she could have divined her future in the clouds, she might have known that the afternoon in her parents’ car was going to be the last peaceful day in her life. But the future came rushing toward her as it does with everyone, serving no warning of an impending disaster.

The volume of Monica’s CD player was maxed, but the synth-pop tune could not compete with the screech of tires clawing pavement. The sound came from in front of the car, and Monica raised her head to see what was happening.

She was still looking at the ceiling when she heard a resounding crash.

Her father uttered a curse, but his panicked swearing was muffled by her music.

Richard Harper slammed his foot on the break pedal, rocking the car onto the front wheels. The left front tire lost traction, and Monica barely caught a glimpse of a row of crashed cars and trucks blocking all three lanes of the highway before the back end of the car slid into a spin. Her head rolled to the side with the force, allowing her a brief view of oncoming traffic through the passenger side windows before the car slid around further.

The Honda connected with the back end of a tow truck on the driver side, throwing Monica into the seat belt. Her neck and shoulder both popped, and for an instant, her vision shifted to grey. Closing her eyes, Monica tried to move her head, and she winced when the muscles in the side of her neck seized into a hot, throbbing knot.

Her right earphone dropped into her lap, creating an odd audio contrast. In her left ear, Belinda Carlisle sang about a circle in the sand going round and round. In her right ear, pained moans came from somewhere much farther away.

Her hearing was muffled, making it hard for her to tell how far away the voices really were. Her mother’s voice joined the others in moaning for only a few seconds, but she still sounded so far away from Monica. Then Lorraine Harper paused to draw in a breath and began wailing.

Opening her eyes, Monica found blood splattered across her faded denim skirt and pink sleeveless top. She hadn’t been hurt badly enough to be bleeding, and if her mother was screaming, her father was dead. Her mother’s tortured cries were a confirmation of her fears, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at her father.

Instead, Monica raised her head to look at her mother’s horrified expression.

Lorraine held both hands over her mouth, but it did nothing to muffle her voice.

Something about the way her mother screamed drained the strength from Monica’s neck and prevented her from turning her head to look at her father.

Lorraine’s cries were not made in pain or anguish, but madness. Whatever had been left in the driver seat took her to the limits of her sanity and pushed her over the edge.

Another screech filled the air, and for a half second, Monica thought it was someone else who had started screaming. From the corner of her eye, she saw the front of a blue truck slide into the door beside her mother. The door collapsed, crushing Lorraine against the seat belt. Monica felt sharp pops in her thighs and looked down at the door pylon that pushed her legs down at odd angles.

Time became disjointed beyond that point. Monica moved slowly, but her vision blurred as though she were moving much faster. Raising her head, Monica stared at the splattered remains of her mother. Desperate to look at something less horrific, her watering eyes locked straight ahead to stare between the bodies.

But the world stopped making sense.

Monica screamed, and the thing laying on the hood, feasting on her father, looked at her. Its glowing red coal eyes burned with tongues of flame.

She tried to scream again, but shock relieved her of her senses.