A/N: This story was initially published on Vocal Media last year. A few weeks ago, I submitted it to one of their summer competitions, “Leave the Light On.” Yesterday, I found out I won! Anyway, please enjoy my winning short story, The Countdown, and be sure to let me know what you think!
A deafening cheer erupts from the crowd outside Danny’s hotel window in New York City’s Time Square. The sky darkens as a giant, electric-blue ball begins its final descent. Danny’s heart races, his nausea amplified by the rising tide of outside voices counting down in perfect sync. “Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven-”
Less than a minute left now. What will it be? His humanity, or soul?
Three strange beings wait silently in the room with him. They aren’t human. Their smooth, mudlike skin is hairless, their oval faces a mix between a horned Klingon and a whiskered catfish. It’s their black eyes that cause him the most discomfort. Looking into them feels like peering into an endless, empty void.
Outside, the crowd continues to chant, “Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine-”
Sour acid boils up Danny’s throat, threatening to spill over into his mouth. “Please,” he sobs, “I can’t do this! Don’t make me do this!”
They study him in cold silence, eyes still and unblinking. Apparently, they’ve said all they’re going to. The only thing left to do is choose. “You fucking bastards! Don’t do this!”
Clutching at his throat, he gags against the sudden urge to puke. Again. Not that there’s anything left. The bitter tang of vomit still burns his throat like hot, sticky coals.
God, I could really use a beer right now.
The thought shames him. Bethany would be disappointed. Danny’s most precious treasure, a beautiful, jade-eyed daughter he prays will never be like him. The only tangible thing left in his life that gives him purpose. What would she say to him if she were here? Rhetorical question. He knows, which makes his decision that much harder.
“Forty-two, forty-one, forty -”
A warm, coppery taste fills his mouth just before he realizes he’s bit his tongue. Exquisite pain causes the room to swim, but he doesn’t ease up. If he weren’t such a goddamn coward, he’d sever the damn thing with his teeth. Go for broke, as they say, choking to death on blood as it gushed down his airway. He’d laugh as the light fades from his eyes, proud to have finally done something good.
But he’s always been a coward. A failure. Scum.
As a baby, Bethany hardly ever fussed. Even when the pertussis had wrecked her little body, she’d barely cried. There had been times when Danny was sure she wasn’t long for this world, but Bethany had battled through it all with grace and grit. His fault, of course. He’d refused to take the vaccination while she’d been in the womb and passed it on shortly after her birth. Danny remembered endless nights crying on his knees, begging God to bring her through. He’d promised to give up the alcohol and late nights, binge drinking with so-called friends who cared less for him than he did for them.
She’s now a bright, joyful five-year-old. A raven-haired little girl who charmed just about everyone with dazzling smiles and cute giggles: how she manages to keep that kind spirit is beyond Danny’s comprehension. A miracle, considering what he’s put her through - lies and empty promises. I’ll never drink again, baby. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, ok? We’ll go for ice cream, how’s that sound? How many tears has she hidden behind that smile, sparing him the guilt he so richly deserved? Doesn’t he owe her something in return?
“CHOOSE, HUMAN.”
The gravelly voice crashes into Danny’s mind like a megaphone, sending him to his knees with an agonized cry. It feels like a metal spike has been driven into his brain, but the voice is only in his mind. Shakily, he climbs to his feet, surprised there isn’t blood gushing from his ears.
Thirty seconds left.
Licking his lips, he scans the crowd outside the window. A sorry bunch of locals and tourists, drinking and celebrating without a care in the world, dancing while lofting cheap plastic wine cups filled with cheaper champagne. Some of them haven’t bothered waiting for the countdown and are already sucking each other’s faces like it’s going out of style. His hands tighten into shaking fists. Why should he care what happens to these freaks?
“Twenty-seven, twenty-six, twenty-five -”
Time is moving much too fast. Tears well up and spill over, tracing rivulets down his flushed cheeks.
Bethany had begged him not to go; she wanted to spend New Year’s Eve with Daddy, but Danny had won an all-expense-paid trip from a radio show. He’d believed his luck was finally improving. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A trip for one. Who else but he would have even wanted it? He should have known better than to go anywhere without his daughter.
“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen -”
The force of their presence had woken him from a nap. A chill that ran deep into his bones, a cold so intense he’d thought he would never be warm again. When he’d seen them hovering over his bed, he’d opened his mouth to scream but had been unable. In his nightmares, he couldn’t yell because of paralyzing fear - but this felt more like shouting underwater. What came out was nothing more than silent pockets of air.
“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen -”
They had fish-like lips but didn’t use them. They’d conversed with Danny in his mind. They were here to study the extremes of human behavior. The choice was simple - in a horrific sort of way. Bethany, currently two states away, could die in her sleep tonight, or every man, woman, and child in New York City would take her place.
A no-brainer. He’s been a loser his whole life, but he’s not stupid. He doesn’t owe these people anything. In their own way, they were no different than the aliens in his room - uncaring, cold, and distant. He wouldn’t sacrifice his daughter for them.
But there’s always a catch.
Bethany would know of his decision either way. Bethany, who had once cried because he’d killed a spider in her room. Bethany, who’d insisted on giving away one of her teddies to a homeless woman on the street, would know that her father had condemned over eight million people to die. For her.
“Ten, nine -”
She’d hate him, obviously. He can deal with that. Will she hate herself, though? Will she grow up feeling that awful burden, knowing her life could have spared millions? Will she be depressed? Will his sweet angel grow up traumatized, turn to drugs or alcohol, or worse, take her own life?
“Eight, seven, six -”
He’s out of time. Danny looks into those glass eyes and stares into the void - into hell itself. He feels nothing but a vague, helpless anger, a distant emotion that brings no comfort. As the countdown reaches five, he spits beside their strange, inhuman feet on the carpeted floor, glaring in open defiance.
“Fuck you, then. I chose Bethany. Let the rest burn.”
“Four, three -”
The visitor’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, then widen more. A brilliant white light envelopes everything, burning all to dust and ash.
Time stands still as horrific scenes flash through Danny’s mind in rapid succession. New York reduced to rubble, its people smoking ruins of charred flesh covered in ash and snow drifts. News Media around the world struggle to make sense of what happened. Eventually, the US government blames some scapegoat terrorist organization in the Middle East. No one believes it, but the patriotic calls of citizens demanding blood cannot stop the inevitable tides of war. The US strikes first, killing thousands, and soon after, the whole world is at war once more.
Danny doesn’t see who sets off the first nukes; he only sees his daughter, standing in a yellow sundress on a grassy hill, holding her mommy’s hand when the first warhead hits. She’s smiling, but there’s fear and pain in those green eyes. Right before the fire dries her tears and melts her flesh, she screams her daddy’s name, her voice joined by billions as their lives are snuffed away.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The scream tears from his throat like a buzzsaw. He falls to his knees, clawing at his eyes as the terrible visions fade.
“Happy New Year!” The crowd shouts. Fireworks thunder in the night sky.
There is no sign of the visitors. The explosions never come. Danny collapses on his knees once more, his chest heaving with sobs.
When he finally composes himself, he sees a note on the bed. When he reads it, a fresh scream rips from his throat, louder and more terrible than the first.
We visited your daughter first. She has cancer. It will kill her before the year is up. We promised to remove it for her if she correctly guessed which decision you would make. She was wrong. Thank you for participating.
Omg! That twist at the end!
Oh that was a gut punch. Oh no.