The Cellar: A Post-Apocalyptic Novella by Richard Dela Cruz Page A

“Right ahead of me I saw a cloaked figure waving at me to follow it. I should’ve been totally afraid but I felt that there was something important that I had to see.”
    She explained how the figure silently led her to a run-down old cabin. Part of the roof had collapsed and most of the wood shingles were rotted. All of the windows were broken. The cabin hadn’t seen any inhabitants for decades. The figure glided through the entrance and Lara followed after it. It stopped and pointed to a trapdoor. Then the dream ended.
    “It felt so real to me,” she said. “So I went looking for the cabin just to make sure. Somehow when I reached a portion of the woods near my village, I felt something guiding me to the right place. I found the cabin and the trapdoor. Under the trapdoor were some stairs leading right to this bunker—and the rest is history.”
    “Did you happen to see some odd rippling in the air on the way to the cabin?”
    “Yes!” Lara stared at Daren. “You’ve seen them too?”
    “Somewhere around the Dead Fields. There’s probably some kind of energy disturbance or something in the area.”
    “Energy disturbance?”  
    “Yeah.” Daren nodded as he spoke. “Maybe the magic in the cellar and the ripples in the air might be connected somehow.”
    “That’s possible.”
    “You think we’re having those dreams and experiencing all this for a reason?” Daren asked. “You think maybe the Angel of Death is trying to communicate with us?”
    “You sound like a prophet.” Lara’s demeanor suddenly shifted. “There are a dozen other logical explanations.”
    “Such as?”
    “I don’t know.” She had an edge to her voice. “Maybe I knew about this place when I was really young and it all came back to me in a dream.”
    “But what about the cellar? What about the air ripples?” Daren asked. “What logical explanation do you have for them?”
    “It’s probably some weird ancient technology from before The Event. There’s no point looking for ghosts and angels in everything you can’t explain.”
    “Don’t you think there are bigger forces at work here?”  
    She narrowed her eyes. “You think both of us having similar dreams mean we have some kind of destiny together?”
    Daren drew back as if she had slapped him. The way she said it hurt him more than he wanted to admit. Lara must have noticed the look on his face. She softened her features.
    “I’m sorry.” She leaned forward. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It’s just that my dad used to talk like that.”
    “Your dad?”  
    Daren became curious. Lara had told him about her mother and siblings but never once did she mention her father.
    “Yeah.” She held the empty chowder can and tapped it with her fingers. “He woke up one day talking about visions and angels and whatnot. We tried calming him down, but he wouldn’t listen to us. It’s like something else took control of him.”
    “He was a prophet?”
    “Yes,” Lara answered. “At first we thought it was a fever or something he ate. But weeks went by, and he wouldn’t stop talking about angels and spirits and the end of days.”
    She thumped the can on the table and stared into a dark corner of the room. Daren saw the lamplight glisten on tears that threatened to spill over.
    “One day he told us that he had a mission to preach to all who would listen,” she continued. “He just up and left, and we never saw him again.”
    She sniffed and brushed the corner of her eye with her finger. Daren waited a few moments for her to continue.
    “Six months later, word got back to us that a mob lynched him for causing trouble,” she said. “The news didn’t affect me as much as I thought it would. I already gave him up for dead the day he left us. It was just easier that way.” She clenched her fists and took a breath to calm herself. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” She forced a laugh. “Must be something in the chowder.”
    Her