Author's Note: This is the first chapter of a book I am finishing. The published name may change, if or when it goes to print. Anyone interested post on this thread and I will update upon final publication. There will be no more of this story posted here or elswhere. Thanks and enjpy.

The choir had stopped singing and the organist played on. Shelley clasped his hand and turned to follow the other members in the church as they filed out of the rows of pews and into the isle. Dan was glad to be done-to get up and out in the Sunlight. He hated going to church. Stuffy people, smiling and calling you 'Brother" but most likely wouldn’t piss on you if you burst into flames. They would likely break into song and dance ~Poof! ~ Human Flame' and they start praising the Lord for a miracle. Donate some money for Africa or something.

He and Shelley had to perform the mandatory 'shaking of hands' with every deacon and the pastor. Dan always marveled at how plump they all were. Round-round faces, round hand, round guts...Hell; they even had fat, round fingers.

They walked to Shelley's car. She had a little white Honda that she insisted on them driving to church in. She said it was because his old Jeep didn't have a top and they would get all wind-blown but he figured it had something to do with things like his bumper sticker that said "God, Guns and Guts set us FREE!', Can’t be talking guns or even guts around the sheepy members of a church can we?

He didn't mind church with Shelley. She liked it so he tolerated it. A couple hours a week and it made her happy.

She drove him home. She was going to change and have lunch with her mom and they would meet later. Go to the park or perhaps go hiking.

After a few small kisses and giggles he watched her pull away. He had a smile on his face.

*****

In his apartment it was dark and cool. The cat was mewling in the bathroom. He always put the cat in there to keep it from playing 'chase' or 'panther' or whatever it was cats did when no one was around with things like his Jeep keys. Actually in the last case the cat had managed to pull out and tightly knot three of his cassette tapes. With no CD player in the Jeep-it was an early 1980's CJ: he really had needed those tapes. Now he was stuck with one rock compilation that he only liked two songs on.

The cat was doing circles around his feet meowing plaintively for food.

"Ok! OK! Damn, give me a minute.' He walked into the apartment's kitchen flipping on the light. Only it flashed then went out. 'Dammit!"

Church always got him edgy. Some of it was that he believed in God but most churches were comprised of needy people. The wealthy-needy; those that went to church to donate some money so they didn't need to feel guilty for being asshats the rest of the week. The poor-needy; those that went hoping God would somehow grant them a magic spell- 'Fix my car.’ 'Heal my sickness.', 'Give me money.'. Then you had people like Shelley, who went because they felt it was the right thing and actually wanted to praise God. Whether God needed the church or not was one of Dan's questions about the whole thing. "I can talk to God driving or in the bathroom..."

He shoved the cat out of the way with his foot then slid a small-folding step-ladder to the center of the kitchen and climbed up to unscrew the glass globe and remove the bulb. The bulb had a blackened scorch mark inside of it and rattled faintly. 'Dammit again...' He grumbled. He then realized his spare bulbs were in the cupboard by the bathroom. Grumbling he started back off the step ladder, setting one foot down and rocking the other for the next step.

It was at that halfway moment when the cat let out a yowling-growl and bit his ankle. He was stepping on it. He tried to pull his foot up but his equilibrium wasn't right causing his weight to shift, the ladder slide and his balance to go 'bye-bye'. He went down sideways clipping his face against the tile-covered countertop on the way down.

*****

His face hurt. His head hurt. As he rolled over to sit up his legs caught in the step ladder. He kicked it hard and it rattled against the wall. Sitting up he felt a wave of pain go through the right side of his face. "SHIT!" He yelled grabbing that side of his face with his hand. It felt crusty and as he moved his fingers over his head and face he found a nice gash just over his right eyebrow. It was crusty. Definitely had done some bleeding.

"Just a flesh wound." He muttered remembering some line from a movie.

He got to his feet and steadied himself. "Geez, I'm glad Shelley didn't see that....[i]SHELLEY! Oh crap, what time is it?" He looked at the DVD player on his T.V., and it read '3:00 PM'. That was good, they were supposed to meet at five.

He slowly walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. "Christ...” He had a seriously nasty gash on his forehead. There was dried blood down the side of his face. 'Dried? How long was I out?' He ran warm water and gingerly patted around the cut. Then washed the blood off his face-gash wasn't that bad. "Nothing a little duct tape won't fix.' He laughed to himself.

Back in the living room he sat and turned on the television and flipped channels.

The first four were static. 'Cable must be out. Mixed blessing. Seventy channels of horse crap most of the time.'

The next channel caught his attention. An Emergency Broadcast logo was on. It said to go to channel 14. The next channel was also not broadcasting anything but static. The following two had the EBS up so he hit the buttons for channel 14.

It was some newscaster. He didn't know the guys name-just one of those idiots that laughed and smiled too much and made dumb jokes as he talked about the latest ax murder or gang shooting or whatever. He wasn't laughing or joking this time. Not even smiling.

'...government has been reporting from all over about mass disappearances of people. Whole families seem to be gone. In some cases only some of the family members are gone...Rioting in major cities...possible nuclear exchange between Israel and Iran...Pakistan...’ He felt a deep chill go through him. He felt for his cell phone and hit the quick-dial key for Shelley. Nothing. No ring, no tone, no service. He tossed the phone away as he stepped to the house phone. Nothing. The phone was dead silent.

*****

A sense of urgency filled him. He went to his bedroom and put on a pair of jeans then a T-shirt. Over it he put on a vest and then tucked his .45 under his belt behind his back. He laced on a pair of hiking boots then headed for the front door.

Opening the door several things struck him at once. First was the silence. His apartment complex was on a corner of a fairly busy intersection and though the traffic noise was never excessive, one could always hear it outside. The next was the smell...a mix of smoke-burning garbage? Sofas? He couldn't place it but it was strong and not nice like wood smoke. There was also the scent of something rotting. Something close-by. The final thing, what he saw., concerned him. No traffic at the end of the drive on the main street. He could see several blocks up up and there was nothing. Just traffic lights changing in sequence. The parking area was sort-of empty. There were cars but not many. Not enough for a Sunday afternoon. Also there was a car sitting in the middle of the drive. It looked parked, as if someone pulled in and left it sitting-except the window on the passenger aide was shattered and it was tinted with red. Dan bet he could guess what that was.

Dan slipped quietly backwards into his apartment and closed the door.

This was weird. Weird was not good.

He walked back into his room and changed his clothes. This time he dressed for business. He pulled out his tactical vest. It was multi-pocketed with several spare magazines for his pistol. It had some basic ‘Get Out Alive’ items such as a magnesium fire starter and fishing line, along with hooks, sinkers and a bobber or two. Things that came in handy on some hunting and hiking trips he took in Alaska a few years back. It also had two large billows pockets filled with 12-gauge shells. Buckshot in one, slugs in the other. He reached in the closet and grabbed his shotgun. Nothing special, just a Mossberg pump. He strung his fixed-blade knife on his belt a loop over from the multitool he carried.

He paused at the front door, Looked at himself in the mirror hung there. Chuckling and shaking his head he muttered "I am Burt, hear me roar! Meow."

He grabbed the knob and pulled the door open.