Dead Moon: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Read Free Page B

arrived, nothing’s been the same.
    That asshole really ruined my day.
    Okay, so let me clarify something... It wasn’t actually the fallen angel himself that came to visit on Friday night. It was actually a meteor. It landed in Central Park with a boom and a rumble—big bastard from what the experts said, but not big enough to obliterate the island.
    The astrophysicist—or is it a meteorologist? Whatever, doesn’t matter. Either way, the guy in the news named it after the biblical demon because of its red hue and the fact it was falling from the heavens above. It literally looked like an evil force was plummeting to Earth. Plus, I think the guy was a real nut job to begin with. Looked like a loon from the get go, straight out of a psyche ward. He had crazy hair like Doc Brown and glasses like John Lennon. 
    I was laying in my bed the evening it happened, impatiently waiting for a Treehouse Masters marathon to start. It’s my favorite show and I’ve never missed an episode. So of course, when there’s a marathon on, I binge watch until I pass out. Something about the show just transfixes me to the TV. It’s honestly the only thing I consistently watch.
    As I waited, an urgent news report popped up on the screen warning of the impending impact. It was simply called, the Arrival . Abaddon was said to be landing in a couple hours and its final destination was forecast to be somewhere inside Central Park. I didn’t even know you could predict a thing like that. The massive park had already been evacuated a few hours ago for precautionary reasons. I don’t think the mayor would want someone to get in the way and go splat. Plus, you always had the SyFy Channel theory of alien life being found and blah, blah, blah…
    “Frank, you ready?”
    Shit.
    That’s Jill, my wife, and she’s about to lose it. I can’t remember why she’s about to get mad, only that she is. The tone in her voice is enough to tell me she’s already not in a good mood. Plus, our relationship has been… Well, let’s just say it’s been better.
    The bedroom door creaks open, followed by a grunt of disapproval.
    Here we go.
    “You’re kidding me, right?”
    I glance over and see her in all her stunning glory.
    Jillian Moon is a looker for sure. She has perfect shoulder length black hair and it frames her chiseled face in a way that makes it draw in her other flawless feature... Her eyes. They’re a deep brown and intense—intimidating even. They’re so intense that they’d make a lesser man beg and an even lesser man cry. They’re perfect for what she does for a living. Jill’s a bigtime lawyer and she’s damn good at it.
    “Huh?” I ask, not really paying attention. My eyes are darting back-and-forth between her highness and the TV. It’s only until she steps in front of me, blocking the idiot box, that I notice her attire.
    She’s immaculately dressed in what’s guaranteed to be a horribly overpriced, knee length sleeveless red dress. It shows off another of her mind-blowing assets . Her legs are radiant, long and tan, as is her toned ass if she were to turn around. What butt wouldn’t look great crammed into the skintight ensemble she’s currently sporting?
    “Nice getup,” I say, still not remembering why she’s so glammed out, especially on a Friday night. Her week ended a few hours ago, unlike mine. I’m working in the morning and want to veg out for the rest of the night. Her matching red heels complete her attire. She’s dressed to perfection as always, but normally it’s in a variety of daunting power suits, or a pair of unrevealing workout sweats.
    The woman hasn’t consumed a carb since high school and her hourglass figure and six-pack abs are proof enough. She’s a workout junky and she’s honestly really annoying about it sometimes. All I want is pizza and beer. Twenty-four-seven three-sixty-five. All she wants is dry lettuce that looks like it was picked from the bushes outside and ceen… keenwa… quinoa.